


The Last Chance

by sulkyselkie



Series: Postmortem love at first sight [3]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, It gets increasingly spicier, M/M, Mentions of Death, Romance, Some Descriptions of Violence, The car from Yorknew, poor Kurapika is so stressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29097081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulkyselkie/pseuds/sulkyselkie
Summary: Kurapika has continued to search for a way for him to be together with Chrollo, but the clock is now ticking. Is there a clue in Chrollo’s past that can save him, or does this love have no future? All Kurapika knows is, he won’t go down without a fight. The conclusion of the “Postmortem love at first sight” trilogy!
Relationships: Kurapika/Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer
Series: Postmortem love at first sight [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019899
Comments: 23
Kudos: 44





	The Last Chance

"Ahh, welcome back," Chrollo greeted him with a bright smile. "How was your week?"

Kurapika slid into the back seat, sighing at the relief the air conditioning provided from the scorching late August heat. "Not bad," he offered. "We got saddled with another last-minute conference presentation, but I don't have to attend this time. Oh, I finished that book I told you about, so I've brought it for you."

The brunet’s eyes lit up. “Much obliged,” he thanked Kurapika as the latter handed it over to him. “I’ve been looking forward to that book all week.”

“ **Just** the book?” Kurapika asked with a coyness that shocked him.

Chrollo’s eyes crinkled at the corners as a teasing smile pulled at his lips. “Well, the book **and** its handsome owner.”

They had settled into a routine after Kurapika worked out a deal with the taxi driver. Once a week, the man picked him up in front of his apartment, and looped around the city for an hour. Partition window up, no questions asked. 

The two would hold hands and talk about their week. Kurapika talked about work, his friends, and the various places he’d visited, while Chrollo shared the things he’d seen around the city or told anecdotes about the other passengers the taxi had picked up. And then they’d launch into a spirited discussion about their shared passion: books.

Chrollo had managed to convince him to take leisure time during the week to relax and enjoy some hobbies. Kurapika decided the time was right to read through the infamous stack of books next to his couch, so when the blond would finish one, he brought it along for Chrollo to read. At first, Kurapika would hold the books open for Chrollo so he could read them, but they discovered something by complete accident: Chrollo was able to touch the books. How or why, they weren’t sure. Kurapika had theorized that whatever phenomenon that allowed Chrollo to touch him perhaps extended to certain objects. (Chrollo, for his part, was _over the moon_. After being denied such simple pleasures for so long, the ability to hold hands with a lover or read a book was like heaven. Kurapika, he joked, was his angel of salvation.)

At night, when the taxi was parked in the municipal garage and there was nothing for Chrollo to do, he would begin reading through the books Kurapika had brought. Once Chrollo was finished with them, he’d stow them under the seat for safekeeping in a bag that Kurapika provided. During their weekly dates, Chrollo would trade them for new ones and they would have a mini book club discussion about last week's book. 

Sometimes Kurapika would go to the bookstore to specifically look for something he thought that Chrollo would enjoy. These gifts were proffered to Chrollo so he could have something to read when he finished a book early. Kurapika would write little love notes on scraps of paper and tuck them into random pages for his boyfriend--he still blushed a little at using that term--to discover. He hoped that these gestures would reassure Chrollo during the dark and still nights that he wasn’t alone anymore.

That thought kept Kurapika going, too, on the lonely nights where he longed for someone to be by his side. On the rare occasions in the past where he’d felt that way, he’d been able to bury those feelings through work or reading through a complex book. Strange, how that simply didn’t suffice any more. There was no substitute for being with the person you loved. But all Kurapika could do now was focus on busywork, knowing that in just a matter of days, he’d see--and touch--Chrollo again.

Discovering that they were able to touch each other had been nothing short of **exhilarating** , and they made sure to take advantage of it whenever possible. When they were reasonably sure that the driver wasn’t paying attention to the backseat, Chrollo would lean over and kiss Kurapika. What his kisses lacked in warmth, they made up in pure passion and sent delightful shivers down Kurapika’s spine. The blond wondered if it had to do with Chrollo lacking a physical body. Did this mean he was coming directly into contact with Chrollo’s soul? Could he literally feel Chrollo’s emotions?

As time went on, Kurapika became a little more bold in his touches, but he was always conscious of the fact that they weren’t alone. He hoped for more (how could he not?), but for now, he contented himself with what they were able to do.

This was the strangest thing Kurapika had ever done. It was like something out of his wildest dreams. He'd never felt happier, though. Who would have thought that it took dating a ghost to really make him enjoy life?

Kurapika was more certain than ever that he wanted a future with Chrollo. This man, and no other, was the one that he wanted by his side. So after Chrollo had given his blessing, Kurapika had thrown himself into research with extraordinary zeal. Ghosts, hauntings, paranormal activity...he’d devoured any reading material he could find at the library, and scoured the internet at any given chance. He was careful when he did it during his lunch breaks, but he was sure Melody had noticed, since nothing seemed to get by her. At least he could trust that she wouldn’t say anything; she’d remarked at work about how much happier he seemed, so she was likely to overlook it.

Quietly, he had tried researching Chrollo himself. While the brunet had acquiesced to Kurapika’s request to discover the _raison d'être_ behind his haunting, he had not explicitly given permission to let him dig into his past. _But he didn’t say I_ **_couldn’t_ ** _do it_ , Kurapika had rationalized as he began, _and how else can I discover his motivations? It’s imperative that I understand his background._ A little voice deep inside quietly pointed out that he also was hungry for information on the man he loved, **period** , but Kurapika chose to ignore it. 

But nothing came up. It was as though “Chrollo Lucilfer” had never existed in the first place. Was that even possible? Had Chrollo given him an alias? Kurapika pondered the issue before deciding that no, it was unlikely. Chrollo had admitted to being “not a very good person” when he was alive, and frankly, why give an alias to cover misdeeds if you then immediately confessed them? But then the issue still remained.

Perhaps there was some perfectly logical explanation. Some unorthodox situation that would neatly explain it all...yes, that had to be it. So why did he feel so nervous about it, so reluctant to broach the topic with Chrollo? Ultimately, this wasn't getting him anywhere. Kurapika decided to table the issue for now, and tackle it again once he had some more concrete information regarding Chrollo’s situation.

Concrete information, though, was difficult to find. Chrollo was the first--and only--ghost Kurapika had ever encountered. Were there truly others out there? There had to be, surely, for how else could any of this have been published? But assuming that even a fraction of these books and articles were true, Kurapika had no idea how to separate the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. He had no way to verify that these authors had even seen a ghost themselves. There was plenty of ‘information,’ to be sure, but Kurapika had no idea how to tell what was useful and what was nonsense. He’d pored through urban legends, myths, reports, and diaries, but without any sense of what he actually needed. All of this meant that he had spent hours upon hours engaged in passionate and frantic research, with nothing to actually show for it. 

Although seeing Chrollo today had energized him as usual, the blond suddenly felt utterly enervated. He slumped back in his seat, hit fully with the sense that he had wasted the past several weeks, with nothing gained to help solve their situation and get Chrollo out of this taxicab. He’d been so eager, so cocksure that he could figure this out. Kurapika felt like a complete and total fool.

“Mmmm?” Chrollo noticed his partner’s collapse and set the book under the seat. He gently pulled Kurapika flush to his side, tucking the blond’s head into the crook of his neck. “Here. You’ve been working so hard,” Chrollo murmured as he wrapped an arm around the other man. “Just rest, love.”

Kurapika could feel his cheeks heat very faintly at the last word, but his sudden mental fatigue precluded him from saying anything in response. He simply closed his eyes, snuggling further into Chrollo’s neck. The phantom fur of his coat collar felt oddly pleasant under his cheek; if it had been real, undoubtedly it would have started tickling his nose, but it was soft and fluffy.

“You know, Kurapika,” Chrollo murmured into his ear, “even if you don’t uncover anything, I won’t be disappointed. Being with you has been like a dream come true. I’m a greedy man by nature, but I’ll accept whatever fate gives me. No matter how much or how little that is.”

The two men were silent, the minutes stretching on. The vibration of the car was almost soothing. Kurapika nuzzled against Chrollo, and the brunet pressed a gentle kiss against his temple. At length, Chrollo spoke. “I didn’t want your hopes to be dashed,” he confessed in a low voice.

“You think it can’t be done?” Kurapika muttered, eyes still closed.

“Correct.” Gentle and soft, yet utterly matter-of-fact and blunt. 

Tears might have been pricking at the back of Kurapika’s eyes. This wasn’t how he had wanted this date to go. He roundly cursed his lack of self-control. The last thing he wanted was to burden Chrollo, who despite his claims of newfound paradise thanks to Kurapika’s presence in his life, was still trapped in a never ending purgatory. But here Chrollo was; soothing him and giving him reassurances of contentment.

Was there really a way to remove Chrollo from the backseat of this taxicab? Did the answer he so desperately desired actually exist in the first place? Kurapika had chosen to ignore all of his doubts and fears, but that didn’t mean that they were gone. He’d simply locked them away, forcing himself to move ever onward. But they’d silently grown until now they were bursting through, unable to be ignored any longer. He’d searched and searched, but to no avail. It felt like a fool’s errand. 

Chrollo kissed him on the top of his head, fingers tenderly stroking at his arm. The dark thoughts clamoring for Kurapika’s attention slowly dropped away. 

Maybe it **was** a fool’s errand. But Kurapika was, if nothing else, a fool desperately in love.

_Perhaps…_

He’d been waiting, holding off until he had something else, but what if that ‘something else’ didn’t materialize? Kurapika threw caution to the wind. If Chrollo was already spoiling him, perhaps asking for something more wouldn’t hurt.

“Tell me about yourself.”

He could feel Chrollo stiffen for a second, before cautiously relaxing. “What would you like to know?” His voice was measured, cool, but with an underlying note of hesitation.

“I know there’s much that you don’t remember much from before you di...about your past. But anything that you can recall, I’d like to hear. No matter how insignificant...or how pointless it may seem to you. Anything could be important,” Kurapika urged him, opening his eyes to focus on his boyfriend.

The other man licked his lips; perhaps a gesture left over from his human days? “It’s not that I don’t want to honor your request, Kurapika,” he began slowly, **“** but there are aspects of my past actions that you might find...distasteful. Not,” he rushed to assure Kurapika, “anything like assault, but…” Chrollo trailed off, clearly at a loss for how to continue. He looked rather anxious, and for someone as self-possessed as Chrollo, it was worrisome.

“Chrollo.” Kurapika reached a slender hand up to cup the brunet’s cheek. “I can think of very little that would make me think less of you.”

Chrollo searched Kurapika’s eyes, and found nothing but honesty there. He sighed, closing his eyes, posture drooping a little. “Very well.” He adjusted his posture to something more comfortable, cuddling Kurapika even closer to his side. The blond pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone as a gesture of comfort, and Chrollo hummed a bit.

After gathering his thoughts for a moment, he began speaking in a slow, measured voice. “I grew up in the slums. I remember very little of my parents; if they were even around, that is. It wasn’t uncommon for extra mouths to be abandoned in times of difficulty. There were several children on the same street in similar circumstances. Alone, hungry, and scared. We banded together, and learned you had to do whatever it took if you wanted to stay alive. If you didn’t simply take what you wanted outright, you would never get it. Nobody would give you anything willingly. The welfare of street children wasn’t high on **anyone's** priority list.”

Chrollo’s gaze shifted out the window, peering at the scenery passing by without really seeing it. “We had to grow up fast. Childhood innocence was a luxury none of us could afford. We had to quickly learn who we could trust, and how to defend ourselves. As the saying goes, you had to sleep with one eye open in our neighborhood.”

“There was no one to help?” Kurapika murmured.

“Every so often, an authority figure made a token effort at ‘cleaning up the streets’ and helping the poor orphaned urchins living in squalor. But it was an open secret that life in the Yorknew social services system wasn’t necessarily any better than life on the streets. The dream that kept us going was the hope of being strong enough to do whatever we wanted. And yet…” Chrollo shrugged with one shoulder. “Things didn’t get easier as we got older, like we’d hoped. Gangs edged into our area. We ended up taking in younger children. There was never enough of anything to go around, and as we grew, we discovered hungers beyond the physical that couldn’t be sated. Beauty, knowledge, strength, power...we’d never have any of it if we stayed in the gutters.”

Kurapika stole a glance at Chrollo through his bangs. There was a bittersweet cast to those gray eyes, as the other man became lost in his memories. When he next spoke, his voice was tighter, thinner, as though he were steeling himself. 

“Then one day, my friends and I decided that we would make our dreams come true...through any means necessary. We had become a family, you see. Nobody cared about us, so we cared about each other. **Only** each other. We were little more than trash in the eyes of society, so we lashed out. We’d show the world that though they might spit on us, leave us to freeze and starve, we wouldn’t accept it. We’d get everything we desired, everything they denied us.”

Chrollo’s lips quirked in a joyless smile. “In a society where you have little power, you cling to whatever you can find to protect yourself with. As children, we stole to feed our bellies. As teenagers, we stole to feed our dreams. And if anyone tried to stop us...well, we knew how to stop them. Frankly, we became shockingly good at theft, and it became as easy as...well, taking candy from a baby. We inevitably set our sights higher and higher. Then one day, it simply wasn’t enough to steal from highly guarded luxury boutiques.”

There was an odd inflection in Chrollo’s voice as he uttered that last statement, and Kurapika couldn’t quite place it. The atmosphere was heavy with expectation as Kurapika waited breathlessly for Chrollo to continue. Somehow, he knew the next few words from Chrollo’s lips would be of vital importance.

“Did you ever hear of the Phantom Troupe?”

Kurapika shook his head. The name sounded rather silly, to be honest, like a Gothic carnival act.

“I’m not surprised. We kept to the shadows of the underworld, and always made it a point to stay as far from the attention of the media as possible. It’s hard to do one’s best work in the limelight.” Kurapika subconsciously made an inquisitive noise in the back of his throat that his boyfriend responded to as if it had been a question. “We,” said Chrollo with quiet pride, “are **the** best art and antiquity forgers on the continent, perhaps even in this hemisphere.” 

_...out of all the possible explanations for his past, I think I can safely say that I wasn’t anticipating_ **_this_** _._

“You don’t **look** like a criminal mastermind,” Kurapika blurted thoughtlessly. At that, Chrollo tossed his head back and laughed. The joyous sound dispelled some of the gloom that had settled in the backseat as Chrollo recalled his painful memories. _He looks so young when he laughs,_ Kurapika marveled, _so carefree._

Chrollo’s hearty laughter faded to low chuckling, and he gazed fondly at Kurapika, laugh lines deepening around his eyes. Kurapika could feel his face grow hot. “Should I take that as a compliment?” Chrollo teased. “Or are you scolding me for not acting wicked enough?” His fingers moved to trail enticingly down Kurapika’s side. The blond blushed harder, if that was humanly possible.

“I...neither, it was a silly remark, please continue.” 

_Now I’ve gone and done it, I’ll never live that one down,_ Kurapika thought, cheeks still practically on fire with how hard he was blushing. _Who reacts that way to that sort of information?_

As if sensing his inner thoughts, Chrollo pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It’s fine, I’m not offended. On the contrary, it was rather amusing,” he insisted. Kurapika pouted a bit at that unconsciously, making Chrollo chuckle again before returning to his story.

“You see, as we grew, my friends and I discovered that we each possessed unique talents and proclivities. Then, we realized that with our talents pooled together, we could find a way to make even more money, to...raise the stakes, I suppose. **Anyone** could rob banks or hack corporate databases, but to be forgers took an incredible amount of skill, determination, and panache,” Chrollo explained, waving his free hand about vaguely. “Everyone’s niche could be translated into a way to contribute to the group. Woodcarving, painting, pottery-making, and so on.”

“And yours?” Kurapika queried curiously. Was Chrollo an artisan? Or did his skills extend to something else? The blond eyed his boyfriend’s hands, trying to imagine them sculpting or painting.

“Calligraphy,” was his reply. “I’m...something of a handwriting expert,” Chrollo added, dryly. “Letters are my specialty, but I’ve worked on all kinds of documents. There’s a beautiful little psalm book I created many years back that should still be in the Yorknew Metropolitan Museum’s rare books room.”

_Slightly unexpected, but it makes sense. He does seem to be good with his hands--_ Kurapika cut himself off here, lest he go down a mental rabbit hole of erotic musings. “And thus you all pursued mastery of your respective crafts,” he forged onward, “and became involved in...how should I put it...the dark side of the art world?”

“Yes. The Troupe was well-known in smuggling and counterfeiting circles. We would research, locate, and... **_acquire_ ** artworks and antiquities. Then we’d create high-quality forgeries to replace them, and sell the originals outside of the country for a handsome profit. It was our most lucrative business, but while we ‘acquired’ plenty of items on our own, sometimes we worked as intermediaries or fences for underworld clients. Sometimes, we would steal items back for clients. We were once asked to help repatriate some looted cultural artifacts to their country of origin. We did that pro bono; it didn’t feel right, otherwise.”

So far, Kurapika had been listening to Chrollo reminisce without much interruption. The tale had gone into several places he couldn’t have predicted. He had braced himself for something truly dark and depraved to surface, but so far it was just...tragic. Children abandoned by society and left to fend for themselves through violence and theft. But they couldn’t (or didn’t, perhaps?) see a way out past that, and continued on as adults, perpetuating the cycle.

He had to admit that he wasn’t thrilled by how Chrollo and his Phantom Troupe (And really, **_who_ **came up with that name? So silly!) had chosen to make their livelihoods, but he also had to grudgingly admit that it could have been worse. Much worse. But still...

Something pressed against his cheek, light as a feather. Kurapika blinked and realized that Chrollo was peering at him, stroking his cheek with his index finger. “What are you thinking, love?” There was a hint of nervousness in his voice and his eyes. Kurapika realized he’d been lost in his thoughts and wondered how long he’d been drifting.

The blond softly cleared his throat. “I don’t want to patronize,” he offered hesitantly, “but did you ever consider that there may have been a different path to choose?”

There was an indescribable expression in those gorgeous gray eyes: not quite regret, and not quite sorrow, but something just shy of them. “I’ve thought about it constantly over the past few years. Given our circumstances, what options did we even have? Was the path we chose the right one? Did we really accomplish anything? I can’t say. I don’t pretend to know what the right course of action would have been, but after years of musing it over, I wonder if there really was another path. There’s nothing that can be done about it now, but I still ask myself what I should have done.” He abruptly fell silent, gaze falling away. 

_Although I don’t entirely approve of his choices, he does make a good point._

“Perhaps,” Kurapika agreed. “I concede that it’s far too easy to fret over the possibilities in retrospect. When you’re caught in the middle of a situation, sometimes you feel like there’s only one way forward. It’s hard to remove yourself and consider what other choices you can make, especially if you’re in a difficult position. I do wish you had been able to find a way out of that darkness before...well...” Kurapika cut himself off. “I suppose this is all very easy for me to say, since I’ve never been in such a situation; I really can’t fathom what it would be like. I still wish you had refrained from theft and forgery.”

“ ** _But_**.” Reaching out, he cupped Chrollo’s cheek with his free hand. “As I told you, there is very little that would make me think less of you. And nothing that you’ve said falls into that category. The fact that you are willing to reevaluate your past actions speaks volumes about your character. I truly admire that.”

Chrollo looked at Kurapika as though he were a priceless treasure. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” he whispered wonderingly before pulling Kurapika in for a fervent kiss.

When they pulled away, Kurapika smiled at him. “Thank you for trusting me enough to share that.”

“Of course.” Chrollo offered him a small smile in return as he visibly relaxed. “It...felt good to share that with another person. I could never afford to tell anyone about my past, and I never realized what a silent burden it was.”

“A burden shared is a burden halved,” Kurapika quoted. “This is what I’m here for, Chrollo. Although, I must say, now some things make much more sense. I...had tried to research your background,” he confessed with a bit of embarrassment, “but I couldn’t find anything.”

Chrollo chuckled, though it seemed to have little mirth in it. “I suppose that’s one advantage to a background like mine,” he dryly remarked. “When you exist outside of the system, you can exploit it more freely. It’s very easy to buy identities, if you know who to talk to. If I needed to complete a task that required official documents, I had any number of aliases to choose from. But I really **am** Chrollo Lucilfer.”

“I see. Yes, that all adds up,” the blond mused. “I appreciate you sharing this,” he reiterated. “If I might continue to be a little nosier still, is there anything else I should know?”

Those pale lips curved into a wider smile. “Well, you’re welcome, but there’s not too much left to share. We operated for several years, and then my life ended. My memories are incredibly fuzzy between those two points. Well, the memories that exist, I should say. I have no recollection of the events leading up to my death, including the actual matter of it.”

Kurapika’s heart sank. He had been counting on some sort of clue in the circumstances of Chrollo’s death, as morbid as it might seem. If Chrollo couldn’t recall anything, this would stall the investigation even further. ”Is there **anything** that you can remember, anything at all? Think hard,” Kurapika urged.

_This isn’t good; if he can’t remember, how can we proceed? Please, Chrollo, think!_

The brunet shook his head in response. “It’s difficult to explain how consciousness works postmortem. The only way to describe it is to compare it to awakening from a dream. There’s the moment of abrupt clarity, where you’re conscious of yourself and the world around you. Whatever happened before is just a vague impression that becomes blurrier and blurrier the more you try to recall it. All of a sudden, I was aware that I was sitting in the backseat of this taxicab, with no recollection of how I got there. The more I tried to remember, the more I blanked on what had happened. I knew who I was, could recall my youth and adulthood, but there was a sort of vagueness between those memories and my awareness of being a ghost.” 

Pausing, Chrollo tapped his lip, looking lost in thought. He then frowned, alabaster brow creasing. “The only thing I can recall after ‘waking up’ is that I didn’t realize I was dead at first. I remember being agitated that the cab driver wouldn’t speak to me, no matter what I said to him. Then I tried to exit the cab when it was parked. After my hand passed through the door handle, I realized that I wasn’t breathing and put two and two together.”

_Is that something useful? I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that it isn’t. Think, Kurapika, is there something you could use to jog his memories, if such a thing can be done?_

While Kurapika was deliberating his next move, Chrollo had continued speaking. “I believe that most of my memories are intact, but the circumstances surrounding my death aren’t clear, so I can’t be sure. I can’t even tell how much time I’m missing. Have I forgotten the last year of my life? The last few months?” There was a bitter, almost frightened tinge to his voice that made Kurapika’s chest tighten in sympathy.

Swallowing, Kurapika tried to think of what to do next. _Maybe there’s a better tactic to employ here? Should I treat this as though he has amnesia? What would Leorio do?_ “What’s the last thing you can recall clearly? Go back to your memories of your time with the Troupe and work forward slowly, until you get to the fuzzy part.”

His boyfriend nodded, brow creasing in thought. “Going to dinner with the Troupe members,” Chrollo answered after a few minutes. “We were discussing jewels, although in what context, I can’t quite recall.”

“There must be a clue there,” the blond decided. _If I’m clutching at straws, then so be it._ “Your Troupe members sound like a good place to start. If we can find one of them who knows the circumstances of your death, then we can use that to deduce the reason behind your haunting!” As he spoke, hope started swelling in Kurapika’s chest. Maybe this was the break he’d been looking for. “Is there anyone that you can think of that we can talk to?”

Chrollo hummed. “Getting them to trust you would be next to impossible for most of them. Let me think...wait. **_Machi_**. Of course!”

“Machi?” Kurapika echoed.

“One of the founding members of the Troupe, and our textiles expert. She was also our medic, and was an absolute wizard with a needle. When she was finished stitching you up, you could barely tell your flesh had ever been sundered. Machi also was one of our ‘acquisitions’ team members. She had this intuition that saved us from being caught countless times. And, although she’s very cautious, she’s the most open-minded of the lot.”

“But would she believe us?” pressed Kurapika. That was the crux of the issue.

“Machi always seemed to possess this...sixth sense, if you will. There was much she never revealed, but looking back, I wonder if she was sensitive to the spiritual world?” The brunet shrugged. “She’s our best shot, Kurapika. While I trust all of my Troupe members implicitly, Machi is the only one we can rely on to not dismiss us out of hand.”

“I understand. We’ll start by asking her, then. Where could I get in touch with her?”

“Sending you to our headquarters wouldn’t work; that would be just asking for trouble. **If** they’re still using the old headquarters, that is,” Chrollo amended. “I do recall Machi volunteering frequently at a nonprofit clinic in Yorknew’s Riverside District.”

“The Naise Clinic?” Kurapika exclaimed in disbelief. “That’s where my friend Leorio volunteers!”

“What a small world,” the other man marveled.

“Well, this makes things much easier,” Kurapika gleefully noted. “I can stop by to ostensibly pay Leorio a visit, but see if she’s around, and--”

“If I might interject, while Machi **is** rather open-minded, approaching her at work to say that you know about her secret criminal past and are in a relationship with her dead friend might not be the best tactic. I’d propose a different approach,” Chrollo suggested gently.

“Oh,” said Kurapika, feeling rather foolish now that his overly-optimistic plan had its glaring flaws pointed out to him. This wasn’t very like him, but it was certainly indicative of how emotionally invested he’d become in helping Chrollo. “Very well, what would you suggest?”

“A letter.”

“A letter,” Kurapika echoed as he lifted an eyebrow. “And that is supposed to accomplish…?”

“I told you that I’m a master calligrapher, didn’t I?” Chrollo smirked. “Not only do I have a fairly distinctive hand--if I do say so myself--but I’m capable of copying anyone’s handwriting. As Machi should well remember.”

Kurapika was starting to catch on. “So you plan to write her a letter displaying your various handwriting styles, which she would realize couldn’t possibly have been written by anyone but you.”

His boyfriend nodded at him, a confident light shining in his gray eyes. “She’d either immediately catch on to the implications, or she’d be compelled to meet with you to investigate further. In any case, we’d be providing evidence to your assertion that you’re in contact with me.”

Relief flooded through Kurapika’s body. This was a solid plan, and frankly more than he’d been able to accomplish on his own. He’d made more progress in ten minutes talking with Chrollo than he had with weeks of solo research. Then something occurred to Kurapika all of a sudden that made him freeze. “Wait, how are you meant to write this letter?”

“I have a theory.” Chrollo crossed his legs and slightly changed his angle to face Kurapika better. “For years, I’ve been unable to touch anything. But after meeting you, I can now touch you and some of the objects you’ve brought me.” He played slightly with Kurapika’s sleeve, as if to highlight his point. “What if,” he said slowly, “I can touch objects that have been in contact with you?”

The blond’s mouth dropped open in a round little ‘o’ of surprise. It hadn’t occurred to him. Then again, he had been riding high on the sheer exhilaration of his new relationship and everything associated with it (finding Chrollo again, Chrollo agreeing to date him, researching the paranormal to understand Chrollo), that he hadn’t questioned some of the concepts associated with it. Though perhaps, he admitted, he should have considered researching **why** Chrollo could touch him instead of blithely accepting it. He’d speculated earlier that Chrollo could touch certain things, but hadn’t considered that he himself could be a key factor.

“Ah, so perhaps if I brought you a pen and paper that I’d handled, you could write with it?” Kurapika slowly mused.

“Yes, I think that might be so,” Chrollo nodded, “though I’m still unclear on why I can touch you, and only you? Perhaps,” those gorgeous gray eyes twinkled, “we’re destined soul mates.”

Kurapika’s stomach did that little leap of joy it did whenever Chrollo said something romantic. No matter how cheesy, it was still adorable.

“You’re so romantic. Are you trying to charm me?” His cheeks were warm, and he knew he was blushing again, but Kurapika didn’t care.

“Perhaps. Is it working?” Chrollo’s voice was low and sultry, and Kurapika’s stomach did a little leap again at its open longing.

“Why don’t you see,” Kurapika breathed, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. Chrollo’s lips descended on him, as his strong arms encircled his waist. As Kurapika kissed him back, he wondered how one person could be so lucky.

All too soon, they arrived at Kurapika’s apartment. As he left the cab after their date was over, Kurapika felt giddy with anticipation. There was a real chance that this was the big break he’d been hoping to find. He had an inexplicable gut feeling that this ‘Machi’ would hold the answer they needed. _Perhaps it’s wishful thinking_ , Kurapika thought to himself as he entered his apartment and tossed his bag onto the couch, _but I don’t think so. It’s like that feeling from before..._

~~

The week seemed to crawl by, so eager was Kurapika to see Chrollo again. He managed to assuage his keenness temporarily by making a trip across the city to a stationery store that Chrollo had recommended. He purchased an array of calligraphy supplies, staring in awe at the vast array of pens, inks, paints, and papers, intermixed with tools he couldn’t name. _Chrollo must have made some incredible art with tools like this. I want to see how he writes, what he’s made. Once he’s out of that cab, I’ll buy him all the calligraphy supplies he could ever want, and he can make art again. We’ll go to the Met’s rare books exhibit and look at that psalm book. We just have to wait a little longer. Only a little bit longer..._

Next week’s ‘date’ therefore ended up being a little different. Kurapika thrust a handful of bills at the driver and told him to head to one of the nicest restaurants in the district, one that had exclusive valet access to the nearby parking deck’s rooftop level.

“And we’re just gonna...sit there,” said the driver slowly. “Ya want to pay me to park on the roof and sit there.”

“No, no,” insisted Kurapika, “ **I’m** going to sit there. Just park the car and get lunch at the restaurant, with this. It’s on me.”

He received a bewildered stare in response before the driver shrugged and accepted the cash. “It’s your money, pal. If you wanna pay me to get lunch while you sit on a roof, I’m not gonna tell ya no.”

Which was how the two of them ended up alone in the cab on the rooftop level of the parking deck. Kurapika could have kicked himself for not thinking of this earlier--the view was an incredible treat for Chrollo, and they were finally **alone** \--but they had more pressing matters to attend to.

And Chrollo’s guess turned out to be correct; he could handle the calligraphy supplies after Kurapika touched them first. The driver’s baseball cap, which had been left in the front seat, simply slipped through his fingers. Sadly, even though Kurapika touched the door handles numerous times, Chrollo was still unable to open them. The experimenting was brief, as they had a pressing task to accomplish.

Kurapika watched in awe as Chrollo set a sheet of paper on top of a lap desk that Kurapika had bought, and began preparing his pen and ink. Kurapika didn’t know anything about calligraphy, but he had to admit that Chrollo’s handwriting was beautiful, the words flowing onto the page like elegant ribbons. It was incredible how Chrollo could completely change his calligraphy style by holding the pen at a slightly different angle, and Kurapika watched mesmerized as the other man flawlessly switched between half a dozen styles as he wrote. 

“There, done,” Chrollo announced after he finished addressing the envelope. “We’ll mail it off and wait for her to contact you.”

“The cafe that I picked as a meeting place is on a high-trafficked section of 6th Avenue. I figured that a more public setting would set her mind at ease.”

“A wise choice,” the brunet nodded in approval. “Now all we have to do is wait. I’m sure it won’t take long,” he assured Kurapika, whose impatience must have been clearly showing.

_I hope he’s right_ , Kurapika thought as he got home that night. _I don’t know how much longer I can stand this._

But as he quickly discovered, if Kurapika had thought that the previous week was difficult to get through, every day after mailing the letter was torture. Would today be the day that Machi reached out to him? What if she dismissed the whole thing as a malicious prank and threw the letter out? What if the letter never even reached her at all? The possibilities were endless and nerve-wracking.

But then five days after mailing the letter, Kurapika received an email from the woman in question. It tersely stated that she would be there Sunday afternoon at three P.M. sharp, and he was to wear a red T-shirt and sunglasses. He goggled at it in disbelief for a moment-- _She actually responded_ \--before he dove for his phone to call the cab driver. (When he’d realized how much money could be made out of Kurapika’s ‘obsession’ with his haunted cab, the driver had happily supplied his number so Kurapika could arrange additional rides at his leisure.) Within a few minutes, they had agreed on an extra-long outing for Sunday afternoon. Replying to Machi’s email with a promise to be there, Kurapika threw himself onto the couch.

_It’s happening_ , was all he could coherently think, _I’m finally on the right track._

~~

Over the course of the next few days, Kurapika feverishly tried to prepare himself. His work day would pass by in a blur, leaving him with hours upon hours at home to agonize over how to explain the situation to Machi. He wrote out scripts that he tore up, composed speeches that he sighed and forgot, and once even briefly wondered if he shouldn’t have asked Chrollo to give him something to work with. 

_Maybe I’m just nervous about making this seem believable? I wouldn’t blame her for scoffing; I would have dismissed this as a mere delusion if it hadn’t happened to me. If I pull this off, I have no right to complain about making another conference presentation ever again. I think I’ve stressed over this enough for a dozen conferences’ worth._

When Sunday dawned, Kurapika sighed and resolved to just be natural about it. _For a value of ‘natural,’ I suppose. If I sound too scripted, it may seem fictitious. I’ll have to trust in that ‘intuition’ of hers that Chrollo mentioned, and hope she realizes I’m being honest._

And he would simply have to leave it at that, he reasoned as he began to get ready for the meeting. As the cab pulled up to his apartment a few hours later, he greeted Chrollo with a bright smile, affecting a confidence he didn’t feel. “We’ll park outside of the cafe,” Kurapika explained as the driver navigated down the streets of Yorknew, “and I’ll meet her inside. If I can convince her, I’d like her to come outside and see you. Are you amenable to that? I remember you said it would be too painful for you to see your friends, but I’d like you to have the opportunity to talk to her if you want.”

“I’ve been thinking about it constantly since we spoke last, and...I think I **would** like to speak to her,” admitted Chrollo in a thoughtful tone. “If my assumption about her hunches is right, then we may be able to see and converse with each other. That way, I could at least know how the others are doing. And I suppose...I’m just eager to see my friend again.”

Kurapika leaned over to clasp Chrollo’s hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll do my best to make it happen,” he vowed.

Chrollo squeezed his hand back and gave him another one of those soft, loving smiles that made Kurapika’s stomach leap in joy.

Shortly after, the driver pulled up to the cafe’s entrance and parked. The thought of that smile, and the lingering butterflies in his stomach, buoyed Kurapika as he climbed out of the cab and walked into the cafe. It was decently busy for a Sunday afternoon, and Kurapika had planned to get there early to boost his chances of snagging a table. As it was, he had to wait about ten minutes for a table to clear, hoping his iced coffee wouldn’t melt too much.

Putting his things down on the table, Kurapika faced the door and settled in to wait. Sure enough, at 3:00 exactly, the door opened and a woman--presumably Machi--walked in before stopping to sweep her gaze over each of the cafe’s customers.

It was safe to say that while Kurapika hadn’t quite known what to expect, he hadn’t exactly expected her to look like this. Perhaps he had expected someone who looked more like an art thief and underground surgeon, although what that would look like, he wasn’t sure. What he saw was a petite woman in her early thirties dressed in loose, layered pastel tank tops and bike shorts. Machi was strikingly pretty, with sharp, delicate features and cool blue eyes that had immediately taken the measure of everyone in the cafe. Despite her casual posture, it was clear that nothing was escaping her notice. She had the aura of someone who wasn’t overtly dangerous, but was absolutely not to be trifled with.

Her eyes quickly settled on Kurapika, and she strode toward him with decisive, measured steps. With one swift motion, she yanked the unoccupied chair out from the table and smoothly sat in it.

“So. Mind explaining?”

Her voice was as cool and dispassionate as her gaze, but with an intensity behind it. Kurapika unconsciously gulped.

She tilted her head, narrowing those cold, cornflower blue eyes at him. “Well? Cat got your tongue?” Her ponytail shifted to cascade down her shoulder, strawberry blonde hair streaked with bubblegum pink.

Right, he was making a bad impression from the start. _Not good._ “You must be Machi. It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Kurapika--”

“I know,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Kurapika Kurta, age 26. Born on April 4th, blood type AB. Structural engineer in the employ of Nostrade & Associates, a private engineering firm located in Lower West Yorknew. Graduate of Yorknew University’s School of Engineering, top of your class. Born in the town of Lukso, to parents--”

“Wait, wait, how do you know this?” Flustered, Kurapika interrupted Machi before she could rattle off any more of his personal information.

“Don’t be dense,” Machi snorted. “I had a friend research your background. I had to know who I was dealing with, of course.”

_I guess I should have expected this. From what Chrollo said, none of his friends trusted people very much, and for someone to send you a letter out of the blue like that…_

“I see your point,” said Kurapika slowly. “And what did you conclude from your findings?”

“You’re okay. I can’t explain why, but you’re okay.” She settled back in her chair, eyes boring into his own. “Don’t get me wrong, it seemed a little off when we looked through your recent internet searches.” Kurapika paled at this, but said nothing. “There was nothing to indicate you’d had a prior interest in the supernatural, so why were you so interested now, to the point of obsessively researching it? It was completely out of character for you. You didn’t mention it to any of your friends or coworkers, and it seemed like you were hiding it. We couldn’t decide if you were experiencing a break from reality or not, but we couldn’t turn up anything in your medical records to suggest that, or anything else along those lines.” Kurapika paled even further.

_Do I even want to know how they could access those?_

“It seemed less likely that you had a new obsessive hobby and more like you’d had an experience that you couldn’t make sense of, that you felt you couldn’t discuss with anybody. **_And_**.” Machi paused meaningfully. “There was no way you could have known about Chrollo, no possible way that you could have heard of or come across the Troupe. Chrollo’s name and true identity isn’t public knowledge, so how could you have been conducting searches for that name? We debated it for a while, but the answer was pretty simple.”

“Occam’s Razor,” Kurapika said suddenly, his throat dry. “The simplest explanation is usually the right one.”

“Yes, that was Shalnark’s conclusion. He doesn’t believe in the supernatural, but it was the only answer that he felt fit, logically speaking. As ironic as that is, I guess.” Machi half-shrugged one shoulder. “But in my case, as soon as I touched that letter, I had a hunch that this was exactly what you claimed it to be. I can’t explain how I can intuit things like this, I just...can,” she continued, staring at her hand as though she was seeing it for the first time. “And it didn’t hurt that the few associates of yours that we interviewed vouched completely for you.” 

She glanced sidelong at him. “Leorio vouched for you, too.” Kurapika choked on his iced coffee. As he sputtered, he stared at her with wide eyes, mind whirling. Machi sighed. “No, I didn’t tell him what the letter was about,” she flatly replied to his unasked question. “And no, I didn’t read your mind, it’s written all over your face.”

_So just immensely perceptive, instead of able to read minds. I don’t know if I should be relieved or not._

“He talks a lot about his friends, you know. I had a hunch that you were the same Kurapika he kept mentioning. I mean, it’s pretty unlikely for there to be two people named Kurapika working for a Yorknew engineering firm. So I set out to **discreetly** ,” she stressed, “establish that you were the same person. When Shalnark’s background check confirmed it, well...Leorio speaks highly of you. And I trust Leorio’s judgment.”

Was it Kurapika’s imagination, or was there a softer light in her eyes for a moment?

“With all of that settled, I made up my mind to meet you. If we ended up being completely wrong, then at the worst, I would only have wasted an hour of my time.” The red-haired woman sighed, a hint of impatience in the sound. “Which brings me back to my first point. Why don’t you explain what’s going on?”

_Well, it’s now or never._

“I haven’t told this to anybody else, not even the driver, and he’s the next closest to the situation. It feels almost too surreal and fantastical to be true, even though I’ve witnessed it with my own eyes and ears.” Kurapika tightened his grip on his cup of iced coffee. “But it’s real, all of it. I’m just as bewildered as anyone else; I’m not the kind of person who believes in this sort of thing.” He cleared his throat and then took a sip of his coffee.

Kurapika looked Machi square in the face. “I’ll tell you everything, exactly as it happened.”

And so, Kurapika began the story of the last several months of his life. How he caught a taxi to the airport, meeting a handsome stranger in the backseat. How they fell for each other, and fell **hard** , in that short span of time before seemingly being parted forever. How Kurapika had been shocked by the realization that Chrollo was a ghost. How he couldn’t forget the other man, and refused to accept the prospect of never seeing him again. How he embarked on the massive undertaking of inspecting every daytime taxi in Yorknew City until he came across Chrollo again. How they began dating, such as it were. How he vowed to find the reason why Chrollo was haunting that taxicab and ‘stuck’ there, so he could free him to spend their future together.

Machi was an excellent listener, and despite her nonchalant attitude and poker face, was clearly riveted to the story. Her eyes never once left Kurapika’s, so he could clearly see the intensity within. As soon as he mentioned Chrollo and described his appearance, there was a visible thawing in those cold eyes; sorrow, joy, regret, hope, pain, mixing together in a bittersweet cocktail. Not a single feeling touched her face or demeanor, but instead shone within those cornflower-blue eyes. He realized that although Machi might appear cold and aloof, there was a fierce undercurrent of emotion hidden deep within. Perhaps this was the way she’d chosen to cope with her upbringing and lifestyle? He might never know; he might never see her again after this.

As the story continued, Machi would nod occasionally and make encouraging noises in the back of her throat when Kurapika would hesitate. When Kurapika reached the conversation he had with Chrollo where the latter shared his past, her eyes grew wide. But overall, she sat frozen in silence as the strangest tale ever told was recounted.

“...then I received your email confirming you would meet me. And,” Kurapika made a vague gesture with both hands, “here we are.”

Silence reigned between them for a long minute. Machi still wasn’t saying anything, and a little prickle of nervousness was starting to spread down Kurapika’s spine. He drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly to calm his jittery nerves. “You know,” he found himself saying unbidden, “even though I’ve come to the conclusion that everything I’ve experienced is real, I felt that sharing my tale would be a recipe for disaster. I’m very grateful to you for hearing me out. Even if you think it’s all nonsense, I appreciate your time.”

Kurapika took a long sip of his coffee to soothe his suddenly dry throat, to find that the ice had all melted. He grimaced, but swallowed anyway.

“Oh, it’s real, all right,” said Machi in a strange voice. “You...you couldn’t possibly...there’s no way…” For someone so self-possessed, seeing her stumble around her words was rather unsettling.

“Are you all right?” Kurapika asked softly. “I didn’t intend to upset you, I’m truly--”

“ ** _No_** ,” she replied firmly. “I’m fine. I was just shaken for a minute.” She reached for his cup, snatching it out of his hand to knock back the last of the watery iced coffee. Kurapika made no protest. “It’s real, all right,” she repeated herself as she set the empty cup down. Machi seemed more like herself now. “There is no possible way that you could have known how the boss was dressed the night he died. The instant you described that winter coat of his, I knew.”

“It truly is rather gaudy, isn’t it?” Kurapika murmured without thinking.

“He loved that coat,” Machi shook her head. “It was one of the first things he stole after he founded the Troupe. Said it made him feel like a king.” She made a sound that was less a laugh and more a soft huff. “God, it was so ugly.”

Kurapika hummed in assent, waiting quietly for Machi to continue. It looked like she had more to say, but was struggling to convey it.

“There’s too much that you told me that you couldn’t possibly have known. No living soul could have told you--” She cut herself off as she realized the irony of using that old expression. “The only person who could have told you any of that is Chrollo himself,” Machi tried to restate her point, “but he wouldn’t have told you that while engaged in Troupe business. None of us have ever told anyone our past.”

Machi cleared her throat as she leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “What I’m getting at is that I believe you. Even if the points you made hadn’t lined up, something is telling me that you’re right.” She nodded once, twice. “So I believe you.”

The blond practically melted with relief in his seat. “So you’ll help us? You’ll tell me about Chrollo’s past?”

She tapped her fingertips against the tabletop. “I’ll tell you, but on one condition.”

“I can’t guarantee that I can fulfill your condition, but I’ll try,” promised Kurapika.

“I want to see the boss,” said Machi in a quiet but emotional voice. “If...if the boss really is still around as a ghost...I want to see him.”

“Well, that’s a condition I can easily meet. Let’s go outside.” Kurapika pushed back his chair and stood up, beckoning her to follow him. She looked faintly perplexed and opened her mouth as though to say something, then shrugged and stood up from her chair. He tossed his cup in the garbage before pulling open the door to usher Machi out of the cafe. 

The taxi was parked a car length away from the cafe’s entrance. Kurapika could just barely see the driver seated in the front, reading a newspaper. Chrollo wasn’t looking their way. Kurapika asked Machi to wait there for a moment before walking briskly to the cab. He rapped twice on the front passenger window, leaning forward as the driver opened the door. 

“I need to have a private chat with someone in the backseat. Could I ask you to step out for a bit?” Kurapika flashed another handful of bills. “The coffee at this place is quite good, and the bakery case looked very tempting.” 

“Paying me to eat, why not?” the driver asked rhetorically. “Come get me when you’re finished.” Accepting the money, he eased himself out of the cab and headed into the cafe, whistling cheerfully.

The blond turned to beckon Machi--still standing in front of the cafe with a half-annoyed, half-puzzled expression--to enter the cab with him. He opened the back passenger door eagerly. “Chrollo, can you shift over?”

Chrollo put down the book he’d been reading. “How did it go?” he asked curiously, scrutinizing Kurapika’s expression for a hint.

A giddy smile spread across the blond’s face. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” With that, he stepped back and gestured with a flourish towards Machi, who was now standing just before the cab door.

She clearly didn’t see Chrollo at first, since she sighed gustily. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Her voice was edged with sarcasm. “I thought you said you’d show...me…” The red-haired woman’s voice dropped away into silence as she froze halfway between ducking into the cab and crawling into the backseat.

There was a moment of utter silence as the two friends stared at each other. Kurapika couldn’t see Machi’s expression as he was facing her back, but he could just see Chrollo over her shoulder. The brunet had tears in his eyes as he regarded her. What was it like, Kurapika wondered, to see a friend whom you had said farewell to in your heart and given up on ever seeing again?

Chrollo offered them a watery smile. “Machi. It’s so good to see you again.” He was trying to keep his voice steady, Kurapika could tell, but his emotions were clearly all over the place.

“Hey, boss,” she croaked. Her voice was suddenly hoarse, and Kurapika could tell she was on the verge of tears herself.

The brunet laughed. “We’re not on a job, you **can** call me Chrollo, you know,” he joked with a lopsided smile.

“Sorry, bo--sorry. Old habits,” she apologized before falling silent. Machi must have been taking some time to compose herself, because when she next spoke, her voice was significantly more even and calm than before. “Can I-uh, can I come in?”

“Please do,” Chrollo offered warmly. He shifted over to the far side of the taxi, and Kurapika noticed him discreetly wiping at his eyes with his sleeve as he did so. At his invitation, Machi scooted into the middle, and Kurapika followed her before shutting the door behind himself.

It was rather cramped with three in the backseat, and Kurapika found himself shifting his angle and almost sitting half off the seat so he could see both of his companions easily. Chrollo mimicked him, so that the three of them formed an almost-triangle. There was another long silence where everyone was clearly figuring out what to say.

_Perhaps I should take the initiative here? I did invite her, after all_ , Kurapika decided. But before he could open his mouth, Machi beat him to the punch.

“You know, even though I hoped you’d be here, I didn’t quite believe you would,” Machi said softly, marveling at the figure before her. “But seeing is believing.” A tiny smile twitched briefly on her face. “So...long time, no see, Chrollo. How have you been?”

It seemed awfully casual to greet the ghost of your long-dead friend in such a way, but Kurapika couldn’t speak to the previous dynamic between the two of them. For now, his role was to sit back and watch, and let the truth unravel as it would.

“I’ve never been better,” said Chrollo, directing one of those soft, loving smiles of his at Kurapika; the kind that made him melt inside. “My afterlife has been blessed by an angel.” Kurapika flushed crimson at this and attempted to hide himself away in the corner, but too late; Machi had seen him and was now smirking just the tiniest bit.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Machi remarked with obvious relief, finally focusing her attention back on Chrollo. “That’s a load off my mind.”

“I do want to hear how you’ve been, as well,” said Chrollo carefully, “but first, has Kurapika elaborated on the issue that we’re facing?”

Her expression was all business now, “To an extent. You have...amnesia?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes,” Chrollo admitted uneasily.

Kurapika couldn’t quite read the expression in her eyes--curiosity, or maybe bewilderment--but she simply nodded. “You’re in luck. Kurapika told me where your memories stop, and I can fill in most of the blanks from there. Most, but not all.”

“Anything you can tell us would be beyond helpful,” Kurapika urged her, Chrollo nodding eagerly.

“Well buckle in, it’s quite a ride,” said Machi, her bland tone not quite matching the unease creeping into her body language. She cleared her throat, and then began, the two men (literally and figuratively) on the edge of their seats.

“The last thing you remember, boss, was us discussing whether or not to accept a job commission from a new client. That was about three weeks before you died. We’d be working as a fence and brokering a purchase deal of some recut jewels smuggled in from abroad. We’d receive them from the client’s associates at the port, and then deliver them to the buyer. It was easy money, and we’d done jobs like that before.” 

She received a nod from Chrollo in response, although to what part, Kurapika couldn’t say.

“One of our previous clients even vouched for them. There was no reason not to accept, and we unanimously voted yes. Just a routine fence job. We **thought**.” Her voice and eyes darkened on that last word. “So the day of the deal, we took a small team to the port. You, me, Bono, and Paku. We’d do the initial pickup at the warehouse, and then we’d trade them at a handoff point in the city later with Shal’s team.”

She hesitated. “Everything was going fine. Until it wasn’t. The handoff went sour. We’d been set up.” Her voice was clipped, utterly emotionless, her face frozen. Kurapika couldn’t tear his eyes off of her.

“It all happened so fast,” Machi’s voice dropped into an almost-whisper. “Before I knew it, Bono was throwing you to the side and Paku was firing back. She got a couple of them, but by then Bono was shot twice. There was so much blood. And they just kept coming. There was no way our team could handle them, not with their numbers. But we’d all been injured in some way by that point; we’d be caught too easily if we retreated.” She was clenching her fists now, knuckles white.

Fear was coiling in Kurapika’s stomach. Even though this was long past, even though he could tell how this would end, he was afraid for them. It was as though he was there in that dark warehouse with them, bullets flying and blood spilled across the floor. He shivered in spite of himself.

“You told us to go ahead of you, and that you’d throw them off our tail and buy us some time. That was the last time I saw you alive. The next time, it was in the morgue.” She was blinking hard, a few tears starting to slip down her cheeks. “From what I was told, the emergency department nurses at YNU Medical Center pulled you unconscious out of the backseat of a cab, and then you coded as soon as they got you into the entryway. They couldn’t resuscitate you.”

Machi grimaced in pain, her soft pink lips quivering. “Boss...Chrollo...I’m so sorry. **_It’s my fault_**.” Her voice was low, wavering before breaking entirely. “I should have insisted that you go with Bono and Paku, or if I’d gone with you, I could have taken you to the clinic and patched you up.” She was openly weeping now. “I should have **felt** something! My intuition had **always** saved us before, so why did it fail us? How could I have failed you, **_you trusted me_**!”

She shook her head, ponytail splaying across her back in red-gold and pink strands. “ ** _You didn’t have to die like that_** ,” she sobbed. Machi’s face was crumpled in grief, porcelain complexion now scarlet and blotchy. Tears streamed down her face in a never-ending river of grief.

Kurapika’s heart sank. For six long years, Machi had blamed herself, living with the crushing guilt of not being able to save her friend, of believing that she was the cause of his death. _I can’t even imagine what kind of pain she must have been in. No matter how strong you are, that’s a horrific burden to carry._

Without thinking, Kurapika reached out to touch her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. Machi, shaking, leaned into the touch.

“Machi,” said Chrollo quietly. Kurapika looked up, realizing ashamedly that he'd almost forgotten Chrollo was there. The other man was leaning forward, looking at Machi with open concern. Tears were beginning to bead in those gorgeous gray eyes again. “Machi, I have **never** \--nor would I **ever** \--blame you for what happened. **_You have never failed me, not once_**.” His voice was calm, authoritative, and so full of compassion that Kurapika’s heart swelled to bursting. “You are all my friends, my family. All I’ve ever wanted is to protect you and keep you safe.” Machi sobbed harder at this.

“I don’t regret it,” the brunet murmured, “I never have.” He then fell silent, and the only sound in the cab was Machi’s anguished sobbing. 

How many minutes went by after that, Kurapika couldn’t say. Ten? Twenty? He longed to ask Chrollo if he remembered anything, but the most important thing right now was supporting Machi. He stole a glance at Chrollo; he looked like he wanted to reach out and pat her on the back or give her a hug, but… _But he can’t. This must be incredibly difficult for both of them._ Kurapika switched to rubbing Machi’s back in an effort to try and comfort her. (He hoped she wouldn’t mind, given that they just met today.)

After a while, her tears slowed. Machi scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms. “I’m...I’m okay,” she mumbled. A part of Kurapika doubted that, but he figured they would take her at her word for now. This was a lot to unpack and deal with, after all. _I hope she can talk to somebody about all of this later. Maybe Leorio knows someone who could help?_

“Machi, you have nothing to feel guilty about,” Chrollo gently insisted again. “Do you believe me when I say that?”

She looked up at him, moist cornflower-blue eyes tinged with red. “No, but yes. It will...it’ll take time. I think.”

“Whenever those painful doubts resurface, just remember: **_you have nothing to feel guilty about_**. If anyone is to blame, it’s the client who orchestrated the whole situation and the men carrying out those orders. I can only hope that they’ll learn their lesson one day.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Machi was sniffling and wiping at her eyes. “Uvo and Nobu tracked them down later. They won’t do that to anyone else ever again.”

Chrollo bowed his head. “That’s exactly like them,” he murmured with dark humor.

Kurapika couldn’t wait any longer. “Do you...do you remember anything now?” he asked in a low, urgent voice.

“I think I do,” said Chrollo slowly. “I remember the warehouse, in bits and flashes. I remember sending my team one way and drawing those hitmen out to follow me. I remember pain...being very hot, then very cold. I was heading to the main street out of the Portside District; I couldn’t walk very well, I was stumbling. I was trying to think of how to get out of there, how to get them off my friends’ trail. And there before me was a taxi. I got in, and I don’t know where I told him to go; maybe I said to drive to YNU. It was halfway across the city, after all. And they followed, I think, but after a while, they stopped.” He contemplated his clasped hands for a moment before continuing, his voice distant and thoughtful, as though he was recounting a dream.

_Then again...perhaps it is._

“But I remember, I felt...proud. Satisfied. I knew that I’d saved them. That was worth the pain, well worth it. But there was also a sense of profound peace. I think that was one of the few moments in my life where I’d ever truly felt peaceful or safe. My memories are dark and hazy from that point on, but I do remember that sense of peace, right until the moment I became conscious of myself again. Strange,” he mused, “how you can so quickly forget something that just happened to you shortly before.”

“So you forgot what happened before you died?” Machi asked, curiously. 

Chrollo briefly gave her the same explanation he’d given earlier to Kurapika. “And honestly,” he confessed, “I didn’t realize I was dead at first. I was left to piece it together, although I caught on relatively quickly.”

_Could this be a clue?_ Kurapika could feel himself get excited. They had learned so much today, all thanks to Machi. _If it wasn’t for her, I wonder if Chrollo would have ever remembered? I owe her my eternal gratitude_ , he thought, shooting her a grateful look. Then, something Chrollo had said earlier flashed in his mind.

“Why don’t I get something to drink and stretch my legs for a bit, and you two can catch up?” the blond offered. “I’m sure you have a lot to talk about, so I’ll give you some privacy.” Machi and Chrollo flashed him twin looks of appreciation.

“I promise we won’t take long,” Machi assured him.

“Scout’s honor,” Chrollo winked cheekily.

Kurapika shook his head. “Take all the time you need. You’ve got a lot to catch up on.” With that, he opened the door and ducked out of the cab. His muscles ached after being forced to sit in that awkward position for so long, so he stretched as high as he could. 

Machi caught Chrollo staring at the sliver of Kurapika’s lower back that was revealed as his shirt rode up while he stretched. She snorted, although another tiny smile quirked at her lips. “Come on, Chrollo, you can stare at him later. Where do you want to start?”

Chrollo dragged his eyes away reluctantly from Kurapika’s lithe form. “Why not tell me what everyone’s doing right now, and then we can go back a bit farther?”

“Okay. Bonolenov is performing again, and he and his fiancee finally tied the knot last year. They’ve adopted Kortopi. He just started going to school again; he’s on the chess team now. Franklin and Shizuku moved to the Stephensburg district, since she wants space for a garden…”

And with that, the two friends began to talk about old times and new, forgetting, if just for a moment, their unusual circumstances.

Outside, Kurapika was leaning against the cafe’s building and sipping iced tea as he scrolled through his phone. His mind was whirling from the new information, and he wasn’t quite sure of how to process it just yet. Maybe when he got home, he could sit down and properly organize his thoughts. But for now, he couldn’t concentrate and was flicking through various social media apps to distract himself.

The cafe door jingled as it opened, a handful of patrons departing. Heavy footsteps wandered towards Kurapika’s direction before stopping close by. “Hey? You almost done there?”

Kurapika flicked his eyes up to see the driver standing before him, newspaper tucked under his arm. “No, not yet,” he informed him, “maybe another half hour at the most.” Machi and Chrollo were still chatting in the backseat, with no indication they were anywhere near done.

Grunting, the driver scratched the back of his neck. “Guess I’ll walk around the block then. Maybe pick up some groceries. Man, I’m gonna miss this,” he sighed.

“Mmmm? What do you mean?” Kurapika wasn’t quite paying attention, having gone back to his phone.

“Well, you’re not gonna have use for a cab that ain’t haunted, huh?”

The blond’s head jerked up as though he were a puppet on strings. “Come again?” he demanded. _A cab that_ **_isn’t_ ** _haunted? What on earth?_

“The cab. It’s getting replaced in a few months. End of the year at the latest,” the driver explained nonchalantly.

The blood in Kurapika’s veins ran cold, as though he’d been pushed into a freezing lake. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He could only stare at the driver.

“Cabs ain’t like regular cars, see, they got a short lifespan. All that wear and tear, you get maybe 5, 6 years out of them before they get replaced. This scrap heap’s over 7, it’s practically a miracle I kept it going this long. I can’t wait to ditch this clunker and get something top o’the line. Not that I’m happy to lose my best customer,” he hastily added, “but it’s been a long time coming, and it couldn’t get put off any longer.”

He stared curiously at Kurapika, who was still frozen. “So your ghost friend’s gonna haunt the scrapyard. I guess. What can ya do? Well, I’ll head down to the park and back. See ya in 30.” And with that, he was off, strolling down the block.

Kurapika’s brain was short-circuiting. All thoughts had stopped. He could only stare blankly at the taxicab in front of him, at Chrollo talking animatedly in the backseat with Machi.

_The cab...is going to be replaced. It’s going to be scrapped. If Chrollo is tied to the car itself...what will happen to Chrollo?_

He could only stare numbly at the car.

As it turned out, Machi and Chrollo ended up finishing their conversation just a few minutes before the cab driver returned from his walk. Machi climbed out of the cab with a softer cast to her face and a contented look in her eyes. At the sight of her saying goodbye to Chrollo, Kurapika shook himself, trying to force a pleasant, normal look onto his face.

Turning around, Machi’s eyes lit up when they landed on him. “Hey, Kurapika,” she called, walking over to him. 

He offered her a smile, hoping he looked his usual self. “Did you get to have a good chat?”

Machi nodded. “I wanted to thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk to him,” she said softly. “I never thought I’d get the chance to apologize to him, not in this lifetime.”

A frown creased Kurapika’s brow. “Machi, Chrollo said it himself, you aren’t to blame for any of--”

She held up her hand to signal him to stop. “I know. I know all that. But I needed to say it, and I needed to hear what he had to say. There’s still that dark voice, deep inside, that tells me I failed him. **_But_**.” She drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Knowing he doesn’t blame me, that he made that sacrifice willingly, that he died happy that he protected us? That’s enough to fight against that voice, until one day I can shut it up for good.”

Her eyes met his. “I feel...free.” There was a light in those blue eyes that hadn’t been there before. Machi was a strong woman, a true fighter. Her resolve had been strengthened, Kurapika could tell, and she wasn’t about to back down.

He could feel a smile--a genuine smile--pull at his lips. “I’m so glad, Machi, Truly, I’m so happy for you.” For a moment, he put his confusion and worry to the side. If nothing else, they had helped Machi today in recompense for the information she’d offered them.

“Hey...if you want to talk about Chrollo, just drop me a line. I can give you all the juicy tidbits he’d never tell you. Like all the embarrassing stuff he did when we were kids.” She smirked. “There’s plenty of those stories to go around.”

“That...would be nice, thank you,” Kurapika found himself saying. “I might take you up on that.”

Another one of those tiny smiles pulled at her lips for a moment before her usual poker face reappeared. “Well...see you around.” And with that, she turned and headed off down the block. He watched her go until she turned the corner, and stared off into the distance even once she’d left his sight.

Not thirty seconds later, Kurapika jumped as the driver bellowed at him from halfway down the block. “NOW ya done?”

Stuttering out an incoherent reply, Kurapka scrambled to the cab. As he climbed inside, Chrollo offered him a blinding smile before pulling him in for a long kiss. He seemed to be less in a talking mood than a cuddling mood, as he wrapped his arm around Kurapika and rested his cheek on the other’s head, humming contentedly. 

Kurapika spent the rest of the ride home in a complete daze, the driver’s words ringing again and again in his ears. Chrollo, distracted as he was with his newly recovered memories and the information about his friends’ current lives, didn’t notice. Which, Kurapika supposed, was for the best, since he didn’t think he would have been able to handle being asked what was wrong. 

As usual, he kissed Chrollo goodbye and promised he’d see him next week, although his mind was elsewhere. _How many more weeks will we have?_ The thought came unbidden to him, and he almost jerked away in surprise. It was a miracle he made it into his apartment without walking into anything. 

His usual post-date routine was to toss his bag onto the kitchenette table, do some stretches, and tidy up a bit before beginning to ponder supper. But today all Kurapika could do was drop his bag on the floor before dropping himself onto the couch.

_What do I do?_ Kurapika stared at the wall above the TV as though it had some secret insight he could glean. 

The cab being decommissioned meant it would be sent to a recycling facility. There, it would be dismantled into its various components. Metal would be melted down, plastic shredded into pellets, rubber stripped away...The car would cease to exist as a complete unit. What, then, did that mean for Chrollo? Was he ‘tied’ to the car as a whole? To the physical backseat? 

_If the unity of Chrollo’s being is tied to the structural integrity of the car...then if the car is dismantled...will Chrollo be torn apart? Metaphorically, or otherwise? Will he be divided into pieces?_

_...would he cease to exist?_

It felt like Kurapika’s heart had been replaced with a block of ice. He felt numb, cold, like he was being dragged down and crushed by an invisible weight.

He didn’t know. He knew **nothing**. None of his research had given him any idea of what they could expect to happen. If he had felt foolish before, he felt ten times that now.

Gaze shifting to the window, Kurapika watched as life in the city outside continued on, ignorant of his dilemma. People bustled about on errands while yapping into their phones, pigeons fluttered around spilled food on the sidewalk, the wind blew stray plastic bags down the street. The world kept blithely turning, while Chrollo was in greater danger with every passing minute. Kurapika stared blankly until the sun began to set, dying the city in hues of vermilion and gold.

_I have to do something. But what can I do?_ Sighing, Kurapika reached up to massage his temples as he could feel a headache coming on. _Think, Kurapika, think!_ He racked his brain for a minute before hitting upon something unconsidered.

_Maybe I should turn this around. What is it that I have_ **_already_ ** _done? I’ve done plenty of research; I’ve read every document about the paranormal that I could locate. But until now, I’ve only been_ **_reading_** _. Instead, I should begin_ **_talking_** _, and reach out to the people who have authored this information. It’s still unclear if any of these people are genuine, but at this point, I’ll take anything I can get. I’ll compare the information I’m told to determine if anything seems out of place, and that might be the best I can do._

_I’m not thrilled at this; it’s too risky. But it’s better than doing nothing._

~~

That evening, Kurapika made himself a sandwich and sat down at his laptop to assemble all of the notes he’d made, and begin combing through them for names. He’d jotted down contact information for these people earlier primarily for completeness, not intending to actually use them. Now, he was immensely grateful for his earlier perfectionism. Hours flew by as he began preparing his strategy. It was all too reminiscent of his earlier hunt to find Chrollo’s taxicab, and Kurapika knew he’d have to tap into those reserves of steely determination once more. Frankly, he could have sat there planning well until dawn, but forced himself to go to sleep; otherwise he’d be useless the next day.

As soon as he woke up, Kurapika launched into action with an almost frenzied passion. He composed emails, wrote letters, and submitted blog comments, searching for a way to secure interviews or meetings with anyone he could identify as being connected to the various paranormal-related articles, books, and blogs he’d read. Whether he could get any replies to his queries was anyone’s guess, but even one genuine reply could be of immeasurable help.

For the next several weeks, Kurapika became enmeshed in this desperate routine. He’d wake up early, filling out as many letters and emails as he could before leaving for work. Lunch was spent with one eye on his email inbox, waiting for replies. After he returned home at night, he’d eagerly tackle his mailbox before returning to more online research to seek any scrap of information he could have missed earlier. No stone would be left unturned at this point. Replies began to trickle in--more than he had hoped for, since he had forced himself to have low expectations--and then presented the next task of scheduling phone and in-person interviews.

He spoke to anyone who seemed like they’d had even a slight connection to the supernatural: psychics, ghost hunters, parapsychologists, occult enthusiasts, folklorists, you name it. Every time he began telling his story, he felt his nerves jangle with anxiety, a knot of worry forming in the pit of his stomach. _Can they help me? Will this person hold the answer I’ve been searching for?_

Kurapika had initially debated revealing the true nature of his relationship with Chrollo to these people, but in the end, he decided against it. It might strain credulity to claim that the ghost he was investigating was his lover, and even though these people purported themselves to be absolutely open-minded, Kurapika refused to give off even the slightest impression that he could be lying or deluded. Therefore, the story he told was **most** of the truth: he had encountered a friendly ghost who was haunting the backseat of the taxi they had died in, said taxi was about to be torn down for scrap, and he was searching for a way to remove the ghost from the taxi since it was unclear what could happen to them.

And one after the other, with uncanny unanimity, they all told him with little variation to the response…

**_Nobody_ **knew. 

What happened to a ghost once its place of haunting was destroyed was a hotly debated topic among paranormal researchers. Even with the latest tools and technology, it was just about impossible to determine. “Anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to sell you something,” one ghost hunter told him, paraphrasing an old movie. Was the spirit destroyed? Did it simply move on to a different location? Did it pass on into the afterlife? Absolutely no one could say with any certainty.

That might not have been so horrible if the answers to his second question had been more optimistic. Not having a clear answer to both queries was less than ideal, but these were desperate times. If Kurapika could intervene, then the danger would be avoided entirely.

**_Nobody_ ** had **_ever_ **heard of transferring a ghost to a different place of haunting.

One psychic had outright laughed at him. The rest had looked at him with pity or concern.

“I’m sorry to tell you all this,” a ghost hunter had told him with a melancholic look in her eyes. “This is why we don’t allow ourselves--and why we urge others not to--become emotionally attached to the spirits we investigate. It’s better that way, you see? You can’t fight against the laws of the universe; it’s like battering yourself against a brick wall, trying to knock it down. It just leaves you bruised and depressed before you quit out of bitterness at your own limitations.”

The first time he’d been told that it likely couldn’t be done, he’d swallowed down his disappointment and thanked them for their time. The next person, he’d thought, might be the one who knew; he just had to bide his time and hold out hope. But the next interviewee told him the same thing, and the next, and the next. Each subsequent iteration of that answer eroded that hope, little by little.

Kurapika found himself keyed up for each interview, only to leave a little more despondent than before. The constant roller coaster of emotions was starting to wear on him, but Kurapika did his best not to let it show at work, or around Chrollo. He forced himself to act as normal as possible, because the last thing he wanted was for Chrollo to catch on to what was happening.

He still hadn’t told Chrollo **anything** about what he’d learned after the meeting with Machi, or what he’d done subsequently: what the driver had said, what his research wasn’t turning up, what his interviewees were telling him.

He told himself that he was doing this as a kindness. If this was difficult enough for Kurapika, how much worse would it be for Chrollo? To be told that you were living under a death sentence, doomed to an uncertain fate through no fault of your own? Kurapika wanted to spare his lover from any anguish, but the guilt was now beginning to eat him alive. He was keeping an important secret from Chrollo; didn’t he have the right to know? But wouldn’t it be worse to keep him holding on to a desperate hope, only to have those hopes crushed a little more with each passing week?

What was the kindest thing to do?

~~

The stress was beginning to mount, and Kurapika wasn’t sleeping well. He forced himself, albeit robotically, to eat and hydrate. He wouldn’t be of any help to anyone if he collapsed or was hospitalized. But coffee only did so much and catnaps weren’t a substitute for real sleep; and eventually, Kurapika fell asleep in the cab one afternoon.

One moment, he was drowsily listening to Chrollo talk about a fistfight between a cab driver and a parking attendant, and the next, he was buried in the phantom fluff of Chrollo’s coat collar.

“Did you have a good nap?” Chrollo sounded amused. “You just dropped off to sleep in the blink of an eye. Was the story that boring?”

“How long was I asleep?” Kurapika mumbled, his tongue fuzzy.

“About half an hour. You looked like you needed it.” Chrollo’s hand came up to stroke Kurapika’s cheek. It was cool and soothing, and Kurapika closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

Chrollo stroked the blond’s cheek for a while before speaking again. “You’ve been on edge for the past several weeks. What’s wrong? And don’t tell me it’s work, I can tell that that’s not it.” Chrollo’s voice was stern, but with an undercurrent of concern and unease. “You can tell me **anything** , Kurapika. It’s all right.”

_I can’t keep this up_ , Kurapika thought, dazed. _I think I’ve reached my limit._

“There’s something that I have to tell you,” he blurted without thinking. “I…” Kurapika hesitated, flooding with shame. “I should have told you earlier,” he confessed. A headache was beginning to throb in his temples, and Kurapika closed his eyes. _What a mess. What an utter, foolish_ **_mess_** _._

Cool hands cupped the sides of his face, and Kurapika opened his eyes to see Chrollo’s tender gaze. “It’s all right,” he insisted gently, looking at Kurapika with such warmth and compassion that he felt a lump in his throat.

Gnawing on his lip, the blond wondered how to proceed. Normally, he would have carefully planned what to say and how to convey it. But there was no time for that now, and Kurapika felt too weary and ashamed to say more than the bare, unvarnished truth. “The taxi is getting decommissioned in a few months,” Kurapika said slowly, dreading each word as he spoke. “It will be scrapped and recycled.”

Chrollo simply froze, as though he’d been punched in the gut. His eyes were wide and blank, and Kurapika could see himself reflected in them. Shocked, disbelieving. His lips parted, closed.

Kurapika’s breath caught in his throat at the sight.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to raise his voice, “Chrollo, I’m so sorry.” 

After a moment, Chrollo seemed to shake himself out of his daze. “I see. Thank you for telling me.” His words were as slow and deliberate as Kurapika’s earlier, but with a forced neutrality.

“The driver told me that afternoon with Machi,” the words were rapidly spilling out from Kurapika’s lips, his brain sluggish and unable to stop them. “I didn’t know how to tell you, and I wanted to wait until I could talk to somebody with paranormal experience, to find a way to get you out, and then it wouldn’t be a problem, but then…” Finally, he was able to reign himself in before he spilled everything, but it was just a little too late.

“I think I can guess,” Chrollo said slowly as he clearly realized what Kurapika was trying not to say. 

For a moment, they were utterly silent, staring at each other. A whirlwind of pain and anxiety was tearing through Kurapika as he gazed at Chrollo, who was frozen like a beautiful and anguished marble statue. Then wordlessly, they fell into each other’s arms. Kurapika whispered apologies over and over, while Chrollo held him tight.

“I’m not upset with you,” said Chrollo firmly. “None of this is your fault, so don’t apologize.” He stroked Kurapika’s golden hair. “You were trying to protect me, weren’t you?” Kurapika faintly nodded, in spite of himself, and Chrollo hummed. “Thank you. That knowledge must have been so difficult to bear, but I wish you hadn’t borne it alone. The last thing I want is for my situation to burden you.”

Something in Chrollo’s words deeply bothered Kurapika. “How can you say that?” He pulled back a little in the embrace to look at Chrollo. “This is your future we’re talking about; how can you be so concerned for me, but so indifferent about yourself?”

The brunet looked away, gaze falling towards the floor. “I suppose in the back of my mind, I expected that something like this would happen one day. But without a way to know for certain, I resigned myself to just experience one day at a time. I didn’t expect it would be so soon.” Chrolo’s voice got progressively softer, until he was almost inaudible.

Kurapika’s hand shot out, almost as though it had a mind of its own, to touch Chrollo’s cheek and guide him to face the blond. “We can’t give up yet. There’s more we can do with the time we have left, I’m sure of it. There’s bound to be something I’ve overlooked, somebody I haven’t contacted.” Conviction rang clearly in his voice as he tried to project confidence to encourage Chrollo.

_As painful as it is to admit that I might not find an answer in time, I have to keep looking._ Kurapika hadn’t given himself over to despair, not just yet. The thread of hope he clung to was thinner by the day, but until all the options had been exhausted, he couldn’t give up. He **_wouldn’t_**.

“Kurapika.” Chrollo’s voice was full of love and sorrow. “It’s okay. Let’s stop.”

All he could do was stare, dumbfounded. “What?”

“You’ve done so much for me, more than I could ever repay.” Chrollo’s arms tightened around him again. “You’ve struggled and sacrificed, working tirelessly to help me at the cost of your own well-being. But I can’t stand watching the man I love suffer like this. **_There is no way for us to win, Kurapika._ ** I’ve told you before, there is no way that I can ever leave this taxicab. Whatever binds me here will not let me go.” There was so much pain in those gray eyes, as Chrollo beheld the one perfect thing he’d always dreamed of, that he’d lost and found, and would now lose again. “I suppose this is just fate’s way of telling me that nothing good can last, even in death.” The sound falling from Chrollo’s lips felt too melancholy and bittersweet to be truly called a laugh.

“ ** _Please_**. I just want to save you,” Kurapika confessed, tears beginning to slide openly down his cheeks. “We’ve come so far. I can’t lose you, Chrollo.”

“I know it’s painful,” Chrollo said quietly, “but maybe this is all we were meant to have. Let’s just enjoy it while it lasts.” His voice was soft, coaxing, but somber at the edges.

“How can you say that? I want to make this last forever. I don't want to see you once a week, I want to see you every day. Every morning when I wake up and every night before I go to sleep.” Kurapika's throat was tight and aching. His eyes were red hot, burning his tears away. “I want to be with you, I **love** you.”

Chrollo stared at him wide-eyed, and Kurapika could feel defiance sing in his veins. “I'll think of something. I'll buy the stupid taxicab if I have to.” Frustrated anger was burning hot and bright in Kurapika’s chest and eyes. “How can you not want to fight for us?” Chrollo’s attitude of pained resignation was too much for Kurapika to bear. “It’s the thought of **you** that keeps me going when I want to give up.”

It felt like his heart was rattling in his ribcage, words choking him on their way out. If the cab driver hadn’t pulled onto Kurapika’s block, he might have said more, but as it was, he grabbed his bag and practically threw himself out of the cab. Chrollo was saying something, the cab driver calling out, but their voices were distorted. The blood pounded in Kurapika’s temples, drowning out the sounds around him as his ears roared.

He ran up the steps into his apartment building, practically dashing to his apartment. Safely inside, he threw his bag on the ground and collapsed against the door into a crumpled heap, shivering with anger and fear and love.

_Doesn’t he love me? Doesn’t he want to be with me? How can Chrollo just give up? On himself, on us? He’s cast himself into the role of the star-crossed martyr, and no matter what I say, he’s too lost in it to consider the alternatives._

Kurapika let his head fall back against the door, shuddering as he began to try to calm himself down. It had been a long, long time since Kurapika had found himself angered; he thought he’d left that behind with adolescent mood swings in his teenage years. Perhaps it was the extreme stress brought on by this unusual situation?

_Use this to harden your determination and fuel your drive_ , Kurapika thought, remembering the words of one of his mentors. _Let your emotions become your strength._ Despite himself, his lips quirked in a humorless smile. _I can’t imagine Professor Izunavi had this sort of situation in mind, though._

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to draw deep breaths and loosen his tight jaw. _It’s too late in the game to give up. There’s still time. I’ll struggle until the very last second if I have to do so._

_I can’t stop here._

~~

He fully intended to go through the next week as he had the weeks prior. But Melody took one look at him as he stepped into the office on Monday morning, and immediately gently bullied him into using a week of his remaining PTO. “You shouldn’t be at work while you’re grieving,” she told him cryptically, patting his arm.

Melody was one of the most keenly perceptive people he knew, almost uncannily in tune with her surroundings. Perhaps it was a testament to their friendship that he didn’t question how she knew. Perhaps he was just that heartsick and tired. Kurapika had simply nodded twice, then turned around and headed home.

The anger he’d felt had cooled overnight, leaving in its wake a deep and profound melancholy that sapped his strength. Limbs leaden, he meandered about the apartment. He changed clothes, made a cup of tea, and then sat down at his laptop to try again.

And in between his research sessions, Kurapika thought of Chrollo. _I’m more frustrated than mad_ , he realized as he curled up on the couch with the fuzziest blanket he owned. _I guess I assumed that since he felt the same way about me, that he’d want to do everything in his power to escape. I suppose...I never really considered how this situation has impacted his perspective, how his past has informed all of this. I think that he truly does believe that this is a punishment, and that he gave up all hope a long time ago. If I was in his position...would I feel the same way?_

He sighed gustily. Pulling the blanket up to his chin, Kurapika settled his head onto the throw pillow. _Chrollo was doing what he thought was the kindest thing to do...just like I was. And I can appreciate the sentiment, certainly. But suggesting that I give up just cut me to the core._ Kurapika scowled a little at the memory, before biting his lip. _We need to talk, but I just don’t feel ready to see him yet. I have to apologize, but I need to think of how to clearly explain everything. And it hurts to think right now._

Mind made up, Kurapika reached for his phone. With slightly shaking fingers, he texted the cab driver, explaining that he wouldn’t be available for their usual drive this weekend. He wasn’t sure about the week after, but he would be in touch. The reply came an hour later, as Kurapika was attempting to use his browser’s translate function to decipher a blog run by a prominent Azian spiritualist. It was a rather curt acknowledgement, but civil enough. The driver was clearly irritated by losing out on at least one, if not two, weeks’ worth of double income, but he was also aware that complaining too much might put Kurapika off entirely.

_It feels a little like running away, but I need time to compose myself. I’ll be extra productive this weekend instead._ Or at least, that’s what Kurapika assured himself.

~~

The days slipped by in a blur of fruitless internet browsing and phone interviews, until it was the weekend once again. Kurapika’s mantra was simple: _Work, work. Think of nothing but work._ Although that didn't stop him from looking out the window every now and then, idly wondering if the cab driver would drive down his street anyway. Each time, he would shake himself and then delve back into the task at hand. He felt a little anxious with each passing day that he didn’t speak to Chrollo, but he felt just as anxious at the thought of speaking to him right now. He felt that he couldn’t face him until he had **something**.

_But how long will that take me?_

This thought had begun to keep him up at night, staring at the ceiling until the wee hours. Kurapika’s neighborhood was relatively quiet, so the sounds of late-night Yorknew traffic were a soft rumble in the distance. The glow from the streetlamps didn’t reach quite to his fifth floor apartment, so he lay in near-dark stillness, alone save for his thoughts.

Midnight solitude encouraged introspection; perhaps it was the atmosphere? But this night, of all nights, seemed...different. The secret thoughts that he had avoided thus far, that he was scared to admit and thus acknowledge as reality, were closer to hand than ever. Kurapika had always prided himself on his strength and resiliency, but tonight, he had to confront some painful truths.

_I never thought this would be easy, but it’s taking longer than I dreamed of. I’m tired. No matter how much or how little sleep I get, I’m still drained._ This stress was vampiric, preying off what mental fortitude he still possessed. _I think I’m nearing the end of what I can handle. I’ll push myself to the breaking point for Chrollo without regrets, but if I do break...what then?_

He squeezed his eyes shut. _I need help. As painful as it is to admit this...I can’t do this on my own any longer._

Admitting one’s powerlessness could be freeing, but in this moment, Kurapika was more terrified than ever. If he couldn’t help Chrollo, then who could? Could he even help **anyone**?

Kurapika was now drowning in an indescribable emotion, empty and lost.

And then his phone lit up with a notification.

Immediately drawn to the glow, Kurapika rolled himself over and groped for his phone on the nightstand. “Who would…” he grumbled, throat thick and voice gravelly. Leorio might send an occasional text after finishing a late shift at the hospital, but not even he was insensitive enough to send one **this** late at night. He clenched his phone, hunching over it as he swiped the lock screen.

The text was from a number he didn’t recognize, and he was about to dismiss it as spam and delete it, but something stayed his hand. Instead, he opened it.

_I think I have the answer you’re looking for._

Kurapika’s hands shook. Was this a dream? Was he hallucinating from the stress? He rubbed at his eyes, dazed. Clearly, his subconscious was just playing tricks on him.

_This is real, by the way. It’s Machi._

Before he knew it, he was typing out a reply.  _How did you get this number?_

_Shalnark._ (As though that meant something, but Kurapika was too tired to try and decipher it.)

_What do you want?_ “And couldn’t this have waited until morning?” Kurapika grumbled under his breath.

_Like I said, I think I have the answer to your problem. Your taxi problem._

Kurapika blinked several times, his mental wheels slowly turning before her meaning finally clicked into place. (He didn't do his best thinking at 2:00 AM, after all.)

_I asked Shal to do some digging for me after we met. Your situation reminded him of some research he lifted from a lab not too long ago. None of it’s publically available, so I figured you hadn’t seen it yet._

Then his email pinged. An address comprised of random combinations of numbers and letters was sending him a handful of PDF files. The titles indicated that these were lab reports from some type of research study, as well as at least one literature review. 

_Don’t worry, nobody can trace this. You should probably delete it after it’s done, to be on the safe side._

Kurapika sat, dumbfounded. This felt surreal, like a lucid dream. Slowly, he began to type a reply, painstakingly tapping each letter at a time. _Thank you for taking the time to help me. I’m sure these will prove very helpful. _ (He had no clue what they were, but it was the thought that counted, even if they ended up being useless to him.) _Why did you send this to me now?_ (Oops, he didn’t mean to phrase it quite like that...not that he was even sure what he was trying to say, given how fuzzy his thoughts were at the moment.)

_I can’t explain. I had a feeling that you were in trouble. I just knew that I had to send these to you and right this moment. It couldn’t wait._

_Thank you_ _,_ Kurapika’s eyes were drooping, his fingers becoming stiff, _I’ll talk to you later Machi good night _

With an enormous yawn, Kurapika’s phone slipped from his fingers as he practically collapsed onto the bed, curling up. It was as though a switch had been flipped, the stress and anxiety fizzling away. Unconsciously sighing with relief, Kurapika dropped off into long-overdue slumber. He dropped off to sleep so quickly, in fact, that he missed Machi’s reply.

_You’re welcome, Kurapika. Good luck._

~~

As the next day dawned, Kurapika awoke feeling more refreshed than he had in months. His jaw cracked as he yawned and stretched. He blinked sleepily at the cheerful golden rays of the morning sun shining through the window. “What a pleasant morning,” he murmured.

He sat in bed for a few minutes, slowly waking up, before the vague memories of his text conversation with Machi last night (or rather, early this morning) floated up through his consciousness. It took a few minutes of fumbling around his nightstand before he realized he’d dropped it on top of his coverlet. Looking at Machi’s last text, a warm smile graced his lips.

_Machi really came through. Maybe she could tell how much I needed help, or maybe...my thoughts reached hers? Some day, I’d like to talk to her about her powers. Even if it’s truly inexplicable, I’d like to know more, as much as I can._

_Well, that’s for later. For now…_

He opened up the first PDF, curious to see what Machi and Shalnark felt could be the answer to his dilemma. What awaited him was a wall of text that was too incomprehensible for someone uncaffeinated. Kurapika rolled out of bed to make some coffee and find some breakfast before starting again.

Twenty minutes later, he curled back into bed with a steaming mug of coffee to fuel his attempts to decipher the document.

**_Cognitive science_**. Kurapika had heard of it before from college electives: the scientific study of the mind and its processes, seeking to examine the nature, tasks, and function of cognition as a whole. A fascinating research topic, to be sure, but Kurapika failed to see at first blush what this had to do with Chrollo. But as he continued to read, he realized that Machi (and Shalnark, who he was beginning to suspect was some sort of hacker) had sent him a series of studies focusing on the formation and dissolution of cognitive associations. They must have felt that this was the key. 

They weren’t out of the woods just yet; it would take some time to fully go through these studies before comparing them to his prior research and figuring out what exactly the ‘link’ was connecting them. It certainly wouldn’t be easy. But Kurapika could feel a tiny ember of renewed hope beginning to burn in his heart. 

_We’re one step closer to the truth. Even if it’s just a tiny bit...that’s better than before._

With renewed enthusiasm, Kurapika began to get ready for the day. After tossing his laptop, notebooks, and essentials into his bag, Kurapika eagerly headed out onto the street. It was a little warm yet for early October, but autumn would be just around the corner. As Kurapika made his way to Midtown Yorknew, he marveled at the thought that most of the year had just flown by. _I can’t believe it’s only been five months since I met Chrollo and began this whole adventure. It feels like a lifetime. Well, if I succeed, we’ll have a lifetime ahead of us!_

The thought buoyed him all the way to the Yorknew Public Library’s main branch, putting a spring in his step and a sparkle in his eye. With extraordinary luck, he was able to reserve a seat in one of the reading rooms, and prepared himself for some intensive research. He spent the morning fully combing through the documents before eagerly pulling almost everything he could find on cognitive science off the shelves. The rest of the day--right up until closing--was spent reading through as many of them as he possibly could.

Once he arrived home, Kurapika began to plan how to proceed. An idea was beginning to take shape in his mind, something that seemed promising, but needed to be thoroughly investigated to be sure. Kurapika texted Melody, asking to use another week’s worth of PTO.

_Of course, but please be honest with me. Is everything all right?_ She replied almost instantly, surprising Kurapika a little.

Chewing on his lower lip, he pondered how to respond. _ I think it will be. But there’s some loose ends I have to tie up and it’s taking me longer than I thought. _ There, that sounded good. But then he was struck by a feeling of guilt as he realized something important he’d neglected to tell her.  _Melody, thank you for everything you’ve done for me this year. I’m sorry that I haven’t been the most reliable coworker...or friend. But you’ve been flexible and compassionate, and that means more to me than I can adequately express. Even if this situation doesn’t resolve the way I hope it will, I’ll repay your kindness any way I can._

_You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help. And no need to apologize; we all go through times like this. Let’s just say that when my time comes, I’ll count on you?_

Her kind words warmed Kurapika’s heart. Melody really was a treasure of a friend.  _Absolutely. Thank you again, Melody. I’ll see you next Monday._

With the week thus cleared, Kurapika began heading to the library every day. He used the literature review to identify related material, combing through the library’s databases for relevant articles and studies. Given that cognitive science was very much an interdisciplinary field, Kurapika enlisted the assistance of some of the subject specialist librarians to locate core works in related topics. 

The more he read, the more that nebulous idea clarified. Until finally, late that Thursday night, it crystallized. Kurapika had brought his day’s research home and was poring over them when the answer, the one he’d been searching for all this time, practically leaped out at him from the meticulous notes he’d made.

He sat, blankly staring at the papers without really seeing them, as his mental gears turned, clicked, and began to smoothly run. There really was a connection, a simple answer culminating from all the bits of information he’d collected. “How...did I never see this?” he murmured. “It was that simple all along?” Laughter began to bubble up from his throat unbidden. Giddy, frustrated, unbelieving, relieved laughter. Kurapika laughed until he cried, the relief washing over him.

Snatching up his pencil, Kurapika began to make furious notes until he grew exhausted. The pencil slipped from his grasp as he yawned, and rested his head on his folded arms. _Tomorrow. I’ll call the driver tomorrow. I finally know._

Kurapika was soon sound asleep, slumped over his notes. If anyone had been there to peer at the paper on which he’d been scribbling furiously, they would have noticed several lines circled over and over:

**_A lot of a ghost’s “rules” for haunting are self-imposed, even if they themselves don’t realize it. Cognition is the key! Changing the cognition of a ghost changes the “rules.”_ ** **_Associations can be transferred_ ** **_!!!!_ **

After so many months of searching, Kurapika finally had the key he needed to unlock the shackles imprisoning Chrollo. And there wasn’t a moment to lose.

~~

Saturday dawned bright and clear, not a cloud to be seen in the cornflower-blue sky. It was the same shade as Machi’s eyes, and Kurapika smiled, thinking of her. _I owe her a tremendous debt; all of this is thanks to her. I’ll have to think of some way to show her my appreciation._

The day seemed to both linger and pass by in the blink of an eye, and soon he was stepping confidently out of the apartment building to the cab waiting at the curb outside. The cab driver had seemed overjoyed--in his gruff, grumpy sort of way--to receive Kurapika’s call yesterday and learn they were back on for this weekend. Kurapika wondered if he’d received the call while he was in the cab. Had Chrollo overheard? Did he know Kurapika would be here?

He practically leaped down the steps two at a time in his eagerness. This was **it**. This was the moment. He was going to prove to Chrollo, to himself, to anyone who said that it couldn’t be done that the laws of the universe were not absolute. Chrollo believed that the stars had decreed his happiness to be fleeting. No matter if it had; Kurapika was going to smash that decree to bits.

_I defy you, stars!_ With the giddy defiance of a determined youth in love, Kurapika crossed the sidewalk to open the cab door.

Kurapika could clearly remember that day in June, when he opened the cab door after months of searching, to see Chrollo once more. How the other man had realized he wasn’t alone, turning to behold the last person he’d ever expect, gazing at him with shocked and disbelieving eyes.

Once more, Chrollo was staring at him with wide, astonished eyes. It really did look like he hadn’t been expecting Kurapika; perhaps the cab driver hadn’t taken that call anywhere near the car, after all. 

Suddenly shy, Kurapika ducked his head. “Hi, Chrollo.”

“Hi,” the other man murmured softly. “You’re here,” he added, voice faintly lifting in wonder. Kurapika had been nervous that Chrollo might be displeased to see him, or upset, but that didn’t seem to be the case so far.

“I...yes.” _Smooth, Kurapika_. “May I…?”

“Please do.” Chrollo patted the seat, and Kurapika obligingly slid onto the cab’s backseat and closed the door.

When the cab pulled away from the curb, there was a moment of silence as Kurapika struggled to buckle himself in while sneaking a glance at Chrollo. The other man looked thoughtful, and a little pleased, if Kurapika didn’t miss the mark. _Now then, I have to tell him._ He drew in a breath, and--

“I’m sorry,” both men said in unison. Chrollo blinked, Kurapika’s eyebrows raised, and they looked at each other, startled. But Chrollo’s lips were twitching, laughter was rolling up from Kurapika’s belly, and they both began chuckling at the whole situation.

“Please, go ahead,” Kurapika offered.

Chrollo shook his head, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “No, you first. I insist.”

The blond nodded. He drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly to calm the last bits of anxiousness twisting at his stomach. “I owe you an apology for our last date. I shouldn’t have lost my temper first of all, but more importantly, I shouldn’t have implied that you didn’t care about our relationship. I didn’t consider your perspective, and how your experiences would have led you to that conclusion. You were only trying to protect me.” Kurapika swallowed. “But still, telling me to give up...that hurt, a lot.”

“Yes. And that’s where I need to apologize to you.” Chrollo reached out to hold Kurapika’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “You’re the stubborn type. You don’t quit; you put your passion into everything you do. That’s one of the things I love the most about you. I didn’t consider that what you needed from me was support. I just didn’t want to see you hurt anymore.” 

While Chrollo’s expression was solemn, his eyes were infinitely tender and compassionate. Kurapika squeezed his hand, and Chrollo squeezed back. “I cursed my own helplessness, but it had become so deeply ingrained that I stopped trying. I guess that I never truly believed that I was worthy of redemption, of all the things I’d dreamed of having. But you made me realize that day that I shouldn’t have given up on myself, and on you. No matter how the odds were stacked against us, I should have supported you. I’m sorry, Kurapika.”

“I forgive you. Can you forgive me?” Kurapika could feel his heart beat faster, stomach fluttering in excitement.

Scarcely had the words left his lips than Chrollo was nodding earnestly. “Of course. We’re in agreement now? We fight until the end, together?”

Not trusting himself to speak without his voice wobbling, Kurapika nodded. Reaching up, he tugged Chrollo forward and locked their lips together in a slow, deep kiss. If the cab driver was somehow watching, Kurapika didn’t care anymore. They stayed entwined in each others’ arms, Kurapika coming up periodically for air, for what seemed like hours. This kiss was different from all the others: like the physical expression of a promise.

.

Kurapika’s lust-fogged brain eventually remembered the most pressing reason for his presence in the cab. “Mmmm, Chrollo,” he mumbled between kisses. “Have to--have to tell you…”

“What?” Chrollo breathed, pressing a kiss to the corner of the blond’s mouth.

“Found the...oh!” (Chrollo’s hand had strayed a little lower than usual) “Found what we were looking for, this, this week, at the...ah! The library. Come on, focus!” he yelped, repositioning Chrollo’s hands.

It took Chrollo a moment to fully comprehend what Kurapika had been saying, given his focus was entirely on nipping at Kurapika’s ear. “Wait...what?” He sat back, stunned.

Nodding vigorously, Kurapika disengaged himself from Chrollo’s embrace and began hunting for his phone. “You’ll never believe it, but I was pushed onto the correct path by Machi. She texted me to share research that someone named Shalnark found. I’m not sure how he obtained it,” he confessed, pulling up his email and messages apps, “but I’m not entirely sure it was done legally.”

Chrollo chuckled. “Knowing Shal, it absolutely wasn’t.”

“Machi told me that she had an intuition that this was the key that we needed, and she...well, she was spot-on with the timing.” Kurapika wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to discuss that part just yet. Possibly later, once this was sorted out.

He showed Chrollo Machi’s text messages, and then brought up the emails to display the various lab reports. “After all this time, the answer wasn’t necessarily fully supernatural, but the application of the scientific to the supernatural. What we needed was to research cognitive science. I went into this armed with the knowledge I had about your past, and once I learned how human cognition worked, the reason for your haunting began to clarify.”

“I think I understand,” Chrollo noted as he flicked through the various lab reports, “but to make sure we’re on the same page, I think you should walk me through this.”

“Absolutely. My first and foremost desire was to find out **why** you’re haunting the taxicab. Machi’s revelation of the events of your death, coupled with some various elements from my paranormal research, as well as this new information about cognitive associations made that clear.” Kurapika settled himself more comfortably on the seat. This was going to be a long explanation.

“You associate the taxicab with happiness, peace, and safety,” Kurapika continued. “Those were the emotions you experienced in your last living moments, and the taxicab basically... **imprinted** on you.” Kurapika hesitated as he struggled for the right word. “Well, there’s more technical terms for it, but that’s the easiest way to explain it. You experienced the fulfillment of a long-held desire, to find a place of peace and happiness. And once you found it, you didn’t want to let it go. The imprint was deep enough that you ‘awoke’ there as a spirit after your death.”

“Then if I understand you correctly, I’m tied to this cab because of a mental and emotional association that I didn’t want to relinquish?”

“Yes, you see?” Kurapika agreed. “The answer lies in your cognition. But if we change your cognition, if we can transfer those feelings to something outside the cab, then it stands to reason that you could leave. Those emotions form the ‘nexus’ of your haunting, the focus that attaches you to the material world. If we transfer the nexus elsewhere, then that would be your new anchor.”

Chrollo slowly nodded, his face screwed up in thought. “That stands to reason, but then the next issue to present itself would be whether that nexus **can** be transferred.”

“Well...a lot of the ‘rules’ behind a ghost’s haunting are self-imposed. It’s a question of whether you recognize it and whether you empower yourself to be able to change those rules. From what I understand from everyone I interviewed, ghosts either don’t recognize they’re dead, or they realize they’re dead but don’t want to or believe that they can’t change the rules. But nothing had indicated that there isn’t a fourth possibility.” Kurapika paused for effect. “And that possibility is for a ghost to **voluntarily** change the subject of their haunting.”

“Then you believe that I could voluntarily transfer the nexus?” Chrollo queried Kurapika, who nodded affirmatively. “Very well. How do you propose that I accomplish this? Do you believe it’s as easy as saying ‘Yes, I think I’d like to leave the car and haunt something else,’ or is there a different process?”

“This...is where it gets tricky. If you had a physical brain, we’d work on conditioning it to dissolve the association between the cab and your emotions, and form an association with something else, but since you’re a ghost…” Kurapila trailed off. “Well, that led me to some serious considerations. As a ghost, does your cognition function the same way as it did when you were a human? Does lacking a physical body mean you don’t possess the same mental processes and functions?”

Lips suddenly dry, Kurapika licked them nervously and continued on. “Looking over what research I compiled, I believe that it’s safe to conclude that for a ghost, the soul and mind are one and the same. On that conclusion, the next logical step would be that the same mental processes apply to you. So in theory, we could use conditioning techniques, as well.” Seeing Chrollo silently nodding along at this, Kurapika decided to unveil his proposed solution. “What if,” Kurapika began carefully, “we changed your cognition, to transfer those feelings to me? To make **me** the nexus of your haunting?”

Chrollo stared at him, those gorgeous gray eyes wide with surprise. “Can such a thing be done?”

The blond simply shrugged. “Everyone I spoke to stated that nobody knew if it **could** be done. That’s entirely different from stating that it **can’t** be done.” A fond smile curved at his lips. “I believe that the groundwork is all there. You love me. I make you happy, and you feel safe and peaceful when we’re together, right?” Chrollo nodded at this. “And you want to change, you want to leave the taxicab and be with me?”

“Of course I do,” Chrollo stated softly.

“Then the primary problem lies in getting you to acknowledge that you are able to change the rules of your haunting, and to give yourself permission to do so. If you think about it, you already have the power to do this, it’s just...getting you in the right mindset to accomplish it.”

“Have you determined a method to achieve this?” asked Chrollo curiously.

“Hypnosis,” said Kurapika simply and matter-of-factly.

“You’re going...to hypnotize me?” At Kurapika’s nod, Chrollo frowned. “Wouldn’t it change once I’m...un-hypnotized?” He asked, fumbling for the right word.

“You’re referring to the ‘state theory’; the idea of hypnosis putting you into an altered state of consciousness. But from my research, I’ve come to believe that the ‘non state’ theory is the more accurate assessment. That is to say, the effects of hypnotism are due to a variety of psychological factors. Really, it’s just an extension of normal psychological processes.” Kurapika folded his hands on his lap. “I’m going to empower you to empower yourself. I don’t know how a ghost can transfer a haunting nexus, but you’ve already created one, so it stands to logic that whether subconsciously or consciously, we can alter or dissolve it.”

“I suppose so,” said Chrollo. “If you think this is our best option, I’m certainly willing to try it. However…” he trailed off. “Kurapika...you do understand that this means I would be tied to you forever?” Chrollo asked him solemnly. “This is a lot to ask of anyone, and you’ve already sacrificed so much for me.” He cupped Kurapika’s cheek with his hand.

Kurapika covered Chrollo’s hand with his own. “If I wasn’t absolutely sure that you were the only man that I wanted to spend the rest of my existence with,” said Kurapika firmly, “I would never have suggested that.”

Tears were welling up in Chrollo’s eyes, and spilling down his porcelain cheeks. “I love you so much,” he confessed, “I am beyond grateful for everything you’ve done.”

“I love you too,” Kurapika said simply, stroking Chrollo’s hand with his thumb. He drew in a deep breath. “Well...here goes nothing.”

And in what **now** had to be the single strangest moment of Kurapika’s life, he guided his ghost boyfriend through a hypnosis session. Kurapika wasn’t licensed in any of this--he was an engineer, for crying out loud--and he was basing this off of several days’ worth of research. But he was reasonably sure he had researched this as meticulously as he could (his determination and perfectionist tendencies saving the day once again), and he simply had to trust that this would work. Failure was really not an option.

By the time they had finished, the cab was parked outside of Kurapika’s apartment building. Excitement was making Kurapika’s heart flutter like a bird in flight. Chrollo eyed the backseat passenger door with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. “I know we’re overtime, but I’ll pay you the difference after I get out,” Kurapika told the driver.

“Take your time, pal, I know you’re good for it.” The driver settled back with his newspaper, waiting.

Kurapika, with trembling hands, opened the door and climbed out, turning to face Chrollo expectantly. “Let’s go!” he urged his boyfriend eagerly. Kurapika offered his hand to help Chrollo climb out. They were close. They were **_so close_**.

Chrollo bit his lip. He reached out, then hesitated and drew his hand back. “I...I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispered. “If this doesn’t work, I don’t know if I can take it. I’m...I’m scared, Kurapika.” There was a frightened, nervous tension in his voice that Kurapika had never heard before. Chrollo was always so calm and even-keeled; for him to express something like this...Kurapika’s heart melted with compassion.

“I’m scared, too, Chrollo,” he said softly. “I don’t know what I’ll do if…” he cut himself off. “But we have to try. It’s our last chance. **_Please_**. **_Try_**. For me?” He tried to keep himself from begging, but his voice throbbed with emotion that he couldn’t hide.

Chrollo looked from Kurapika to his outstretched hand, then brought his gorgeous gray eyes to face Kurapika’s brown ones. “Kurapika. If this doesn’t work, I want you to know one thing. You are more than I have ever deserved. No matter what happens, I’m content with my lot.” His voice was deceptively calm, but couldn’t hide the love and fear and uncertainty beneath.

Words caught in Kurapika’s throat. He could only hope his eyes, as teary as they were now, could convey what he was feeling. Once again, he offered his hand to the brunet, who accepted it; phantom hand clasped with the corporeal. And he pulled.

Like a chick breaking free from an egg, Chrollo stepped out from the cab that had imprisoned him for so long.

Stunned, he stood stock still, fully upright for the first time in years. His eyes were wide, taking everything in from a new vantage point. Tears were spilling endlessly from Kurapika’s eyes, and he embraced Chrollo, burying his face in the taller man’s chest. As he wept in joy, Chrollo wrapped his arms around him, dazedly turning his head this way and that to stare at his surroundings. “It worked,” Kurapika sobbed, “it really worked. Machi, thank you! Machi, you were right!”

“Maybe…” said Chrollo in a hushed whisper as something dawned on him, “Maybe Machi’s power really did work when it was supposed to. Maybe this **was** her saving me.”

Too overwhelmed to say anything more, Kurapika clung tighter to Chrollo. They stood like that for what felt like hours. If passersby stared, Kurapika didn’t care. Who cared if his neighbors thought there was something wrong with him? Chrollo was safe, that’s all that mattered. All he wanted to do was celebrate this moment with his lover.

Eventually, Kurapika pulled away to face Chrollo. The brunet smiled, and wiped Kurapika’s tears away with his sleeve. “I, uh...I should take care of the driver, I guess. Can’t keep him waiting forever,” Kurapika joked. _Well, I just want to keep holding you, but I do have to pay him what he’s owed._

Chrollo nodded, smiling fondly. “I’ll be waiting right here.”

Reluctantly, Kurapika disentangled himself from Chrollo’s embrace, and walked over to the front passenger window, knocking on it. The driver rolled the window down, looking expectantly at Kurapika. “All done?”

“Yes,” said Kurapika. “Yes, it’s all done.” He offered a thick envelope through the open window. “This is for today’s ride, plus overtime, and a...gift. To thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

The driver took the envelope and peeked inside, whistling at the fat stack of bills. “My pleasure,” he said, tucking the envelope away. “Yanno, you were one of the best customers I’ve ever had, and I’m gonna miss this. The drives, not just the cash,” he added hurriedly. 

Kurapika smiled. “I will, too. Thank you again.”

“Well, if you ever need a ride to anywhere, ya got my number.” The driver scooted back over to the driver’s seat and started up the engine. Kurapika stepped back off the curb, heading over to Chrollo. 

“Hey, pal!” Kurapika turned around to see the driver leaning towards the still open window. “Hey, uh...take care, kid. Hope you and your ghost friend do okay.”

Chrollo clasped Kurapika’s hand and they glanced at each other lovingly, smiling. “We will,” said Kurapika, turning back to the driver. “Thank you. We will.”

The driver nodded, waved briefly, and rolled the window back up. Kurapika and Chrollo watched as the taxi pulled away from the curb and began to slowly drive away. Even after the car had long disappeared from sight, they stood there, gazing at the horizon.

“You know...I’ll miss him.” Chrollo mused wistfully. “He was my constant companion for six years. Not the best of company, but he grew on you.”

Kurapika squeezed Chrollo’s hand. “I hope you don’t mind his replacement. After all, I’ll be around for a long, long time.”

Chrollo chuckled and kissed his cheek. “I’m looking forward to it.”

~~

Kurapika proudly ushered Chrollo into his apartment. “Be it ever so humble,” he stated with a flourish of his arm.

“It’s **wonderful** ,” said Chrollo warmly, looking around and taking it all in. “So cozy and neat. Your personality really shines through.” He began to meander around the apartment, inspecting it. Kurapika headed to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. Leaning against the counter, he watched Chrollo while sipping his drink. The brunet slowly ambled around the living room before inspecting the view from the living room window.

_My personality shines through here, huh?_ The apartment’s furnishings were a sort of hodgepodge: items from his college dorm room, castoffs from the previous occupants, some new pieces he’d purchased with his first paycheck (and approved by Leorio, since apparently Kurapika had “little taste in home decor”), and a few handmade gifts from his family. His mother had sewn all of the curtains, and his father had built the main bookcase. One of the framed paintings in his bedroom had been painted by Pairo as a graduation present. Kurapika could, he admitted, afford to buy entirely new furnishings, but he felt that all of these mismatched items brought a homey warmth to the apartment. _I suppose they tell the story of where I’ve been and what I’ve done, come to think of it._

He placed the glass in the sink and walked over to join Chrollo. “This is incredible,” Chrollo marveled, tracing a finger down the windowpane. “I never thought I’d be seeing the sunset from anywhere else.”

“Chrollo?”

“Mmmm?” The brunet tore his gaze away from the window to settle on Kurapika. The rays of the late afternoon sunset turned his eyes molten silver.

“Welcome home,” Kurapika offered almost shyly. He could feel a little blush start to creep onto his cheeks at hearing himself say such a cheesy--but heartfelt--thing.

The smile Chrollo offered him was nothing short of heart-melting. “It’s good to be home.”

They stood together and watched the sunset, hands seeking each other out and entwining. _I couldn’t have asked for a more romantic moment if I tried. I hope we can watch more sunsets together, just like this._

Once the sun had sunk almost entirely below the horizon, Kurapika decided that it was time to start pursuing more practical matters. “I want to run some tests,” he announced.

“Tests?” His boyfriend echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Am I to be your guinea pig, then?” he teased.

“Well, yes, but you don’t have to worry about being poked and prodded like one,” Kurapika said absent-mindedly as he rummaged through his bag for a notebook. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind being handled like that at all. In fact,” he breathed, appearing right up against Kurapika’s ear in the blink of an eye, “I’d prefer it if you **did**.”

“Yes, well,” Kurapika sputtered, fumbling with his notebook and feeling a blush beginning to heat his cheeks. Chrollo was smirking again with that particular light in his eye, and Kurapika hurried to continue, lest they get sidetracked--albeit pleasurably--again. “I want to test your abilities and see what you can interact with. We have to figure out what the new ‘rules’ of your haunting are.”

Chrollo sighed theatrically and then winked. “Very well. Test away, Doctor Kurapika. Direct me as you will.”

Notebook and pencil at the ready, Kurapika explained, “First, walk around and see what you can interact with. I’ve touched just about everything in this apartment, so if the theory holds true, you should be able to, as well.”

With a thoughtful expression, Chrollo began to take a few steps in this direction and that, casting his eyes around for a place to begin. Kurapika hovered a few feet away from Chrollo, jotting down his observations. The brunet ran his hands over the coffee table, then picked up a throw pillow and squished it, testing its fluffiness. His eyes caught on the nearby bookshelf and lit up. Chrollo wandered over and began pulling random books off the shelves, flipping through the pages.

Eventually, he migrated to the other rooms, Kurapika following close behind. Chrollo flipped light switches, ran the faucet, rubbed the fabric of the curtains between his fingers. The tactile sensations must have been incredible, after being unable to touch anything for so long. And indeed, so far, so good. Chrollo seemed to be having a ball fiddling with everything in the apartment, but he also seemed rather impatient.

Kurapika decided to test the opposite side of the theory--that Chrollo couldn’t touch what Kurapika hadn’t touched--in a slightly unorthodox way. Ordering delivery, Kurapika took the plastic bag holding the food with one hand while placing the tip into the delivery driver’s with the other. Chrollo caught on, attempting to touch the driver’s hand quickly after Kurapika. They learned two things. First, even if Kurapika touched another person, Chrollo couldn’t touch them. Second, as evidenced from the bag of food, Chrollo indeed couldn’t touch anything that Kurapika hadn’t. He could handle the bag, but his hand slipped through the plastic container of food.

Dinner was a hurried affair, with Kurapika wolfing down his meal, eager to continue his tests. Chrollo seemed more fidgety than before, eyes frequently landing on Kurapika’s lips. After he finished, Kurapika deposited his dishes in the sink before hurrying over to the coffee table where his notebook and laptop were sitting. 

“You didn’t have to eat so quickly, you know,” the brunet noted as he perched next to Kurapika on the couch.

“Well, I want to get back to testing.” Kurapika flipped open his laptop. “I want to discover what else you can do.”

A devilish smirk spread across Chrollo’s face. “Oh, I can think of some things I’d like to do,” he drawled. He stroked Kurapika’s hand enticingly.

Kurapika looked away sharply as his face flooded with color.

Chrollo laughed softly. "Forgive me, Kurapika. I simply have too much fun teasing you. Your reactions are...delightful."

The blond huffed in exasperation. “Chrollo, this is hardly the time--”

“On the contrary,” the brunet interrupted, “I think it’s **exactly** the right time.” And then he was sweeping Kurapika into his arms and kissing him again. The sheer **passion** in the kiss was making Kurapika dizzy, as though the world was spinning around them and Chrollo was the only thing anchoring him to solid ground. He clung tightly to Chrollo, moving his hands to run through those raven locks. He could feel Chrollo’s cool hands slip under his shirt, running up and down his body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Kurapika broke the kiss to gasp in pleasure, and Chrollo took advantage of the opportunity to start kissing along Kurapika’s jawline.

Kurapika had planned to spend the evening continuing their experiments, the prospect of learning as much as he could about the rules governing his spectral boyfriend’s existence a thrilling challenge. But at this point, he had to admit that Chrollo was right. It was exactly the right time. They’d been denied this for too long.

He managed to pull Chrollo’s coat off, watching as the phantom article of clothing floated to the floor. Chrollo looked at him with naked hunger, and pulled him in again for another kiss.

And together, they discovered just what else Chrollo could do.

~~

Kurapika was afraid to open his eyes the next morning. Even as he drifted awake, he kept them tightly shut. As long as they were shut, he was safe. He was terrified at the possibility that this had all been a dream and that when he opened his eyes, Chrollo would be gone. That this didn't work, and somehow Chrollo was back in that taxicab forever.

_Screw your courage to the sticking place._

Kurapika forced his eyes open.

The room was how he left it last night: door ajar, clothes--both phantom and physical--scattered around the floor, pillow dangling off the dresser it had landed on after being kicked off the bed. Well, **almost** as he had left it, as there was something (no, **someone** ) lounging in the armchair next to his dresser.

The pale rays of the early morning sun filtered in through the partially open blinds, bathing Chrollo in its soft light. He was still nude from last night, and his alabaster skin was almost glowing. He was leafing through one of the poetry collections that Kurapika had bought expressly as a gift for him.

Smiling softly, Kurapika admired how peaceful Chrollo seemed. He shifted slightly, causing a twinge of discomfort. His lower half was pleasantly sore, but not as bad as he would have thought, given the... _vigor_ of their activities the night before. Kurapika found his gaze tracing the lines of Chrollo’s hard, well-built body. He shivered at the memory of tracing them last night with his fingers and tongue.

“See something you like?”

Guiltily, Kurapika quickly tore his gaze away, up to Chrollo’s face. His lover was looking up from the book, those large, liquid gray eyes full of warm contentment and adoration. A knowing smirk tugged at his soft, full lips.

“Perhaps. But I might need to check again just to make sure,” the blond purred. His own brazenness sent a secret thrill down his spine as he watched Chrollo’s smirk deepen.

Setting the book to the side, the brunet made his way to the bed. Sprawling out next to Kurapika’s side, Chrollo offered his lover a smile of roguish glee. “Feel free to check as many times as you like. I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured throatily.

For a moment, Kurapika’s throat tightened, as a wave of deep emotion rolled over him. After all of the heartache they’d suffered through--crushing loneliness, anguished tears, silent despair--they were together. Nothing could part them again. This was **real**. It was all real, every moment fought for. Like a dream come true, Chrollo had said once. But this was far better, for never in his wildest dreams could Kurapika have imagined having **this**.

Kurapika pulled Chrollo into a kiss that tasted like forever.

_~fin~_

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This took me quite a long time to write! I kept getting more and more ideas that I wanted to incorporate, and this fic just got longer. And longer. And longer. I was a little worried about getting it published in a timely fashion, since I felt anxious about keeping people waiting. I tried not to rush too much, but I’m sorry if this isn’t up to par with the first two; but the more I looked at it, the more tired I got of it, and I realized that I could edit it for a long time and probably not be satisfied. What a relief it’s done! (There’s a lot of notes I want to share here, too...)
> 
> I wanted to write something hopeful in these dark times. I hope that this made your day a little brighter, no matter what you’re going through. :)
> 
> As an epilogue: In the end, Chrollo 'haunts' Kurapika. He mostly spends the time that Kurapika is sleeping by reading, but he does like playing pranks on the neighbors sometimes. They don't have to be in the same room--Chrollo can move in a fifty-foot radius around Kurapika--so it's not as though they never have privacy. The two get a cat, who ends up being the only other living being that Chrollo can touch. Cats play by their own existential rules, after all. They travel the world, Chrollo showing Kurapika all the sights that he’d once dreamed about sharing with a lover. Kurapika’s friends don’t exactly believe his story about being in a relationship with a ghost, but they eventually come to terms with it. Whether it’s a delusion or not, Kurapika’s clearly happier than he ever has been before, so they 100% support him. Every so often, Machi invites Kurapika and Chrollo to Phantom Troupe get-togethers. It’s always hard for Chrollo to see his friends without being able to really be with them, but watching them live full, happy lives brings him quiet joy. Kurapika and Chrollo live many, many unconventional but happy years together. And when it's finally time for Kurapika to pass, Chrollo follows his lead. Wherever they are, whatever fate awaits them, they're there together.
> 
> Machi appears! She’s my favorite Hunter x Hunter character, and frankly, my favorite anime character of all time. I haven’t been able to write anything just for her yet because it’s hard for me to capture her essence! I want to do her justice. I’m dipping my toes into writing for her here. Machi’s hunches always came off to me as a sort of sixth sense or some form of psychic powers, so in this fic, I’ve translated them thusly. You could describe this version of Machi as a sort of psychic or medium. (I hinted at this throughout the trilogy, but Kurapika is, as well. It’s part of the reason he can see and interact with Chrollo. He’s nowhere near as strong as Machi, but he gets the same ‘intuitions,’ just very infrequently and to a lesser degree.) In my fic, she is like a female version of Black Jack; she’s a medical prodigy who’ll operate on anyone as long as you pay her exorbitant fees. But the money is donated to the free clinic that she and Leorio volunteer at, to pay for the clinic’s operating costs.
> 
> For those of you wondering why Shalnark’s information sounds so familiar...it’s partially based on the concept of ‘cognitive psience’ that is discussed in Persona 5! When I realized that the key was to change Chrollo’s perception, I thought back to that game and then did some research on what that was based on. Cognitive science is an actual interdisciplinary, scientific study of the mind and its processes, and it was fascinating to research! 
> 
> Research for this fic took me all sorts of places. Taxicabs really are decommissioned after 5-6 years of use, on average. 7 years (like this fic) is a bit of a stretch, but not outside the realm of possibility. The hypnosis section caused me such stress, and I hope nobody minds that I didn’t take you piece by piece through the process Kurapika used.
> 
> Thank you SO SO MUCH to everyone who read, those who gave kudos, and especially to those of you who took the time to share your thoughts! Your support is very much appreciated, and I hope to be able to bring you many more fics! <3 <3


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